The Art and Craft of Necromancy
by Fulminanz
Summary: When Hermione looked through the attic of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, she did expect to find dark magic, forbidden rituals, and terrible spells. But the darkness rarely tells its secrets and so Hermione is caught in a whirlwind of black magics, with a demon inside her head and a Mistress hailing from the House of Black. /Abandoned
1. Extra-Extracurricular studies - 01

It was late at night and the silver moon over London made the attic of Grimmauldplace Nr.12 glow in a smooth blue light. It was used as a storage room to free the rest of the house from everything, beginning with trash and ending with dark artifacts that were too valuable or too dangerous to get rid off. Some furniture was covered in big covers of grey linen and in three of the four corners, books were arranged in stacks.

Those were the reason why Hermione Granger came here the first time and since then. One day in the summer after the fourth year, the Weasleys and herself cleared out the Black residence and while doing so, many books came on the 'blacklist', as Molly Weasley called it. The list determined if the books and tomes they found were too dark to lie around for everybody to see. After every day of cleaning, Molly Weasley would shoo them down to dinner while she hid the books and dark artifacts in the attic that was hidden behind a secret entry.

Hermione was frustrated after seeing the ancient tomes, even some papyrus scrolls and not being allowed to read them. Even if they were dark, what harm could it do to at least inform oneself? As her father kept saying, 'A weapon is but a tool that does good or evil according to its wielders wishes'. But when she was honest with herself, she didn't even care how these texts were perceived by the 'good people'. She was hungry for knowledge and Molly Weasley had decided to starve her. This wouldn't do.

Hermione tried to find the entrance to the attic for over a week, without success. Not entirely without. She found the door, alright. But what good was a door if you didn't have the key? To gather this sort of intelligence she had to go to the extreme and hired the Weasley twins. For a couple of Galleons and a free pass for either one of the twins should she become prefect in the fifth year, the two spied on their mother until they found out how to enter the attic.

'Purity prevails' was the simple phrase that made the door translucent and allowed Hermione to walk through it. How the twins found out about it, even though their mother used silencing charms whenever she said these words, she didn't know and didn't want to either.

And so she came up the attic every night, every day of the week, to read through the books she picked at random, starting with the most ancient ones. She set up a desk that was covered in the grey linen to protect it from dust and sat down on a stack of less interesting looking books about magical herbs and household spells. Books that were stored here not because they were particularly dark, but because they were just a waste of space.

The first night she read through an old book that went on about the different spells to flay, impale and generally kill people while inflicting as much pain onto them as possible. Hermione was disgusted, but far less than she expected to be. Much stronger was the feeling of disappointment that only grew with every book she opened that covered similar subjects. Kill in battle, kill as punishment, kill to set examples, kill for revenge, kill for honor, kill for money and kill for sports.

She was about to stop with her nightly study sessions when she came across an old, some would say ancient, tome that covered something new. ' _The Art and Craft of Blood Magic'_ stood in old letters on the cover of the book. "Now thats more like it." Hermione whispered to herself while she flew over the contents of the book.

She was fascinated by the pictures of blood rituals, the way you had to cut runes into your skin for the sacrifices and the horrifying result you could get by using this barbaric brand of magic. It was like watching one of the horror flicks her father seemed to enjoy. The longer she read in the book, the more she became disgusted by the practices, but she was unable to look away. Every page she said to herself that that one would be the last just to turn to the next page. She ended up reading through the whole book. Hermione felt like vomiting once she read about the last ritual. Requiring the blood of a prostitute was a ritual that granted the sorcerer the ability to let his body form anew, extending his life. The details were disgusting and included raping the woman before cutting up her throat and hanging her on hooks above the ritual circle to bleed out onto the runes drawn under her. The author praised the possibilities but warned about doing it too often, since opening the body up to so much dark magic resulted in becoming a monster. The authors name was James Maybrick aka. Jack the Ripper. He wrote the nickname in cursive as if he was proud of it.

After finishing the book written by the famous murderer and psychopath, Hermione took a pause in her studies. She had nightmares in which she hung over a rune while her blood oozed out of her body. Mad laughter and unintelligible chants droned in her ears while she kept bleeding onto the rune for what seemed like hours to her. She woke up, wet from her own sweat and needed a few minutes until she realized where she was. If Harry's dreams where like this all the time, she thought to herself, then she wondered how her friend kept himself sane. It took her three days until curiosity regained the upper hand and she went back up to the attic. However, this time she would not just read, she would take notes.

"These spells are tools. I am a good wielder." she said to herself several times until she opened Jack the Rippers book again. She remembered reading about a spell that worked like a _reducto_ and merely required a small wound in the palm of her hand. No incantation, no wand, just a wound and intent. It would come in handy should she ever need some wandless magic. The fact that Voldemort was alive again added to her reasoning. What if they were imprisoned and their wands taken from them? See, consciousness? This is a good thing to do!

Once she copied the instructions to the spell onto a piece of parchment she shut the book close and threw it into the darkest corner of the attic. Shivers ran down her spine when she thought about the last few pages and subsequently, her nightmares. She looked down on the parchment that now held the instructions to a blood magic spell.

 _'I could go to prison for this'_ she thought to herself.

 _'I'm looking for ways to protect us. Looking can't hurt, can it?'_

 _'Yeah... keep telling that to yourself.'_

 _'But its not like I'm going to use any of the really dark ones.'_

 _'Well, that one on page 68 loo...'_

Hermine shook her head violently as if she tried to destroy that last line of thought. No, she would never use the really bad ones, she would never hurt anybody else, let alone kill anybody as a sacrifice. It was just her brain taking a detour into dark terrain. What did she read one time? Thinking about shoving someone in front of a train wasn't insanity, insanity was to actually do it. Or something along those lines.

She stood up and grabbed another random book from a random stack. It was a slim book covered in green leather with a title in simple golden letters. _'An Introduction to Summoning by Ignatius Black'_ was the title of this one. This time Hermione was more careful while she read through the first pages. She wouldn't make the mistake again to be caught off guard by the contents of a book. After a few pages she loosened up. This wasn't bad at all.

"Why is this even here?" she asked no one. The book was everything but dark. It described in great detail the basics of the forgotten, since illegal Art of Summoning. The authors tone was professional and positive as he described the various types of helpful spirits, harmless demons, angels and more exotic beings that would do as the Summoner commands. It reminded her of her own school-books.

After a few hours of reading introductions and basics, the author proposed to the reader a little experiment. A simple summoning, quick and without risk, no sacrifice involved. Hermione sat stunned in front of her desk covered in linen. A quick rush of anger flew through her head as she realized that she was once again caught by surprise by another author. And damn him, she had everything she needed for this in closest proximity. What if she did it? It wouldn't hurt and the only thing it cost was an inch of parchment and a bit of ink. No harm would be done. But it was illegal, even though it was just a small, minor, insignificant wisp that would come through the circle. That didn't change the fact that Summoning was forbidden in the United Kingdom and most of the Commonwealth. However, it wouldn't be the first rule she broke out of curiosity. That Polyjuice Potion she brew in second year was maybe serving a purpose, but Hermione would kid herself if she'd deny that she had done it to prove that she could do it. Then again, Polyjuice Potion wouldn't get her into Azkaban.

Sometimes she hated her two sides. Curiosity and rules rarely played along well.

In the end she decided to do it. Nobody would find out, anyway and she really doubted that this little ritual could really be categorized as dark. It was illegal because it was a ritual, not because it was dangerous.

She carefully drew the circle on the parchment and added the three runes required to the top and on the sides, exactly ninety degrees from the top rune. On the bottom she placed her thumb and began to read the words used for the summoning. Other than spells, these words were no orders but invitations. The author made sure to emphasize the fact that until the summoned beings come through the summoning circle they have their own will and decide for themselves if they agree to the invitation. Other than some of the examples he gave previously, the invitation for the wisp was simple, even though Hermione had no idea what language it was. "Onta-cala." she said and suddenly the ink forming the circle on the parchment began to glow in a faint white.

Instinctively Hermione tried to remove her thumb, but it was stuck on the paper, just like that was stuck on the desk as if someone glued it all together. She nearly began to panic when a small, not even ping-pong ball sized sphere of light came through the circle and her thumb came free. She gasped and forgot to close her mouth while staring at the white ball that now flew in circles around her. She felt it. She knew for a fact that it also felt her. After a few laps around her the wisp stopped in front of her. Hermione didn't hear anything but she could have sworn that someone asked her what he was supposed to do. Before she could even think about answering the same sensation repeated in her head. It was like the memory of something once heard. Like when you thought about what someone said to you a second ago. This time it just stated that she looked confused. She nodded and the shadow of a sentence saying "I thought from the start that you were a beginner." came into her head.

Nervously she looked to the book and searched the pages for the line that would banish the wisp back to wherever it came from. But before she could make out the words in the book, the wisp told her through her own thoughts that the words were 'Cala heca'.

"Cala heca" she said nervously while fighting back the sudden urge to smile when words of goodbye and a strange feeling of amusement flowed through her mind. The wisp vanished through the circle and left Hermione behind in what now seemed like an unnatural darkness. The wisp's light has been as bright as a powerful _Lumos_. The candle on the desk felt like a sad excuse for illumination compared to it.


	2. This one is Rukh - 02

After the shock of her first summoning went out of her system, Hermione had to be honest with herself. She would do it again and she would try out other summonings from other books and maybe even from some of the scrolls she saw about the subject. It was such an weird but strangely amazing feeling to have the wisp connected to her mind like this. She was a beginner, the wisp got that right, but she felt back then and knew now that she could have commanded the wisp. He would have obeyed her commands even if she would have asked him to serve as a reading light for her the rest of the evening. It was a feeling of power and Hermione caught herself smiling while remembering the sensation. Eagerly she wrote down the Instructions for the summoning of a wisp onto another piece of parchment.

"I'll need something to get this stuff in order." she said while pondering some more about her recent experience. She was in a high, just like when she wrote a test that she knew she would ace for sure. It was the same feeling of accomplishment.

Some more pages after the wisp summoning pages she encountered another interesting chapter.

 _Every good summoner, dear reader, needs a way of storing his most cherished of rituals. For ages sorcerers used their personal grimoires to store their favourites and sometimes even their own rituals. But how does one produce a grimoire? After all, it is not just a book. It is both reminder and journal but more importantly, a friend and faithful council for every decent summoner. A good grimoire is a personal item, keyed to one person and one person only. It is as big as its needed and forgets the spells the sorcerer and summoner wants to forget while saving the knowledge the summoner needs to remember. It holds as treasures the moments that define the summoner and keeps these memories to form the character of its owner. To produce such a book, one must perform a simple ritual that requires nothing more than the sacrifice of ten regular books as well as a drop of blood._

"A drop of blood" she muttered. She pondered this line for a bit while drawing up the ritual circles. She would decide whether to do it once she had the ritual set up. It was just a drop, right? It was not like she'd have to bleed out over a rune. A little sting with the quill would do.

After she finished drawing the slightly more difficult circle, she took some of the useless books she sat on and placed them in the middle of the runes and geometric forms. The ritual was set up.

Hermione took a few steps back and then turned around to face the stairs down onto the fifth floor. Wasn't this the line she didn't want to cross not even an hour ago? Didn't she find the idea of sacrificing blood revolting? But wasn't a grimoire the epitome of her passion? A book that would hold everything she deemed worthy of remembering. She wasn't even sure she'd be able to carry it once summoned.

"Aaahhh, damnit all to hell, I want this!" she screamed towards a pillar as she turned around and stormed back to the desk, took the quill and violently stung her thumb with it. The quill broke and some of it was stuck in the flesh of her thumb. She drew in a breath through her teeth to keep herself from crying and shunned herself for her impatience. Not caring at the moment she placed her already heavily bleeding thumb over the books. Once the drop of blood touched the books about housecleaning and magical cuisine, they dissolved into a black and brown mist while the circle began to glow in the same white light that she already knew from the wisp. Quickly she placed her two hands to the place on both sides of the runes. Once placed the mist began to whirl and a sphere of black and brown began to form in the middle of the circle. Hermione held her breath as she observed the sphere morphing into a square, forming covers of dark brown wood with black ornaments. Slightly brown pages made the book bigger and bigger until it stopped after about fifty pages. Then all of a sudden, the mist was gone and the light stopped in an instant. The book, now fully formed fell down onto the desk with a 'whump' sound.

At first Hermione wasn't sure what to do. She wasn't even sure if the ritual was done or not. All she knew was that she was feeling an urge to press her still bleeding thumb onto the book and without much thought she did so. As her blood touched the wooden cover the black ornaments began to swirld around and reform into a crest in the middle of the book. In the middle of the crest was an otter playing around as if it was alive. Surrounding it were delicate lines and abstract forms that made the book overall a beautiful thing to look at. Awestruck she opened the book. The first page was to her surprise the _Wingardium Leviosa_. A small paragraph reminded her of the do's and don't of the spell and a slightly abstract drawing demonstrated the wand movement. For a demonstartion of its effect, a rough drawing, almost like a cartoon, had a painted club whack a painted troll over the head. Nearly twenty pages covered simple spells and some potions, including the Polyjuice Potion. Then the summoning of the wisp took over an entire page. Right next to it was the blood magic reducto, titled _Sanguine disruptio_.

The rest of the pages were notes of more personal matters, memories. The day when she got her Hogwarts letter took the first of these pages. Little drawings showed a bushy haired girl jumping around an abstractly drawn living room. Then the day when Harry called her a friend for the first time. It was such a beautiful memory that Hermione shed a lonely tear that ended up on the page. Once in contact the colors of the drawing that showed her with big eyes staring into Harry's emerald green ones, lit up and remained a tick brighter. The entries continued, the last one showing Harry alive in the infirmary after the Tournament. Then the tone of the journal changed and it began anew with her childhood. The ink used to write the episodes and to draw the pictures changed into a dark red, reminding Hermione of the blood she just used to make this grimoire. She slammed the book shut the moment she realized what she was looking at. Her eleventh birthday. A drawing of her standing in the middle of a partyroom that was absolutely empty. No one had come. It broke her heart and she felt it break again when she looked at the picture.

Hermione screamed in surprise as the Grimoire flew open again and showed her again the side with Harry, calling her his friend. A few seconds later it turned a few pages and stopped at the day when she received her first birthday presents from Harry and Ron. Hermione was too shocked to do anything. She was only able to press out a hoarse sounding "What the hell?".

As Hermione stared onto her grimoire, three words lit up on the page showing her birthday. 'You. Have. Friends.' Those three words were highlighted with a faint, golden light radiating from the ink the words were written with.

At this Hermione just ran. Every single one of her instincts commanded her to run as fast as she could and get away from this book. She basically jumped down the stairs to the fifth floor and nearly crashed into the hidden door. She barely got out the password and then continued to run down the halls, trying to be at least running on her toes. She ran around the last corner and nearly fell over the House-elve of the Black family, Kreacher. She ignored his rambling about disgusting, no respect, mudbloods and entered her room where Ginny lay in her typical deep sleep that was so common among the Weasleys. Seeing her younger friend reminded Hermione of why her instincts made her run. Talking books were not exactly a good thing if you'd ask Ginny.

Completely exhausted Hermione changed into her nightgowns and fell onto her bed. She had no nightmares this night. Instead she dreamed about her eleventh birthday, but with a teenage Harry and Ron celebrating with her.

Hermione woke up as the sun rose over London. She tried to fall asleep again but quickly surrendered to the massive onslaught of thoughts that forced her to be wide awake. She surprised herself by thinking about going up into the attic again. But there was that book and she'd be damned if she...

"What by all the Gods and Merlin and Morgana?!" Hermione hissed, her voice barely working.

There on the cabinet beside her bed lay the book with the wooden cover and the otter crest on it. She quickly crawled to the other side of her bed and never left the book out of her sight. What was that... thing doing here?

As Hermione starred at the Grimoire, Ginny woke up. She stretched her limbs and yawned loudly before looking at her roommate. "Mornin, 'Mione." she said with a sleepy voice. It took her a bit until she recognized the distressed look on Hermiones face.

"Whats wrong, Hermione? Let me guess. Fred and George?"

Hermione looked at the redhead not quite comprehending the words she just spoke.

"Hermione? Are you alright?" Ginny's tone was getting more serious and concerned. Whatever her brothers did, there would be hell to pay later.

"I-I'm fine." Hermione answered slowly. Ginny followed her eyes to a book she had never seen before. Ginny couldn't help but grin at the idea that her twin brothers would use a book as bait for Hermione. As much as she liked the brown haired bookworm, sometimes her obsession with books crept her out a bit. Sometimes she imagined her taking a sniff of parchment and getting a kick out of it.

Ginny walked over to the book and looked at it carefully. She prepared for the worst and then opened the cover. There was nothing on the first page and Ginny began to turn page after page. Every single one was blank. She could hear Hermione gasping behind her as if she expected something to happen.

"That was... anticlimactic." Ginny said a bit disappointed.

The smile Hermione wanted to form ended up being a pained grimace. Ginny thought to herself that she was too sleepy right now to deal with a Hermione Granger that has gone bonkers. "I'm going to breakfast, you're coming?"

Hermione just nodded and quickly changed into some clothes for the day. She looked one last time at the book on her cabinet and hoped that it wouldn't follow her down to breakfast. She would deal with that later.

The day went by and Hermione managed to not think too much about the book. She could explain her absent mind by telling everyone she thought about the OWLs. Nobody would question her, even though she had to listen to some snide remarks.

It was barely eleven o'clock and the moon stood high in the sky. Ginny was sound asleep and just as deep in her dreams as she was every night. Still, Hermione tried to be as silent as possible while she grabbed the Grimoire and left the room to go back to the attic. She found no one on the way, just Sirius talking with someone a few floors down.

Once again Hermione sat at her desk in the attic and studied a book. This time, however, the book didn't fascinate her, it crept her out like none of the previous books had managed. She studied it intensely, making sure to remind herself of how the ornaments had looked when she first saw it and if she could find any difference. As much as she tried to find anything different, the cover looked just as it had yesterday.

Hesitantly she opened the Grimoire and immediately drew back her hands as if she feared that the book would bite her. What was she supposed to do now, Hermione asked herself. For a lack of a better option she decided to do what came to mind first. She just asked.

"Who are you?"

For a immensely long moment, the book did nothing. Then a single symbol lit up.

'?'

Hermione sighed loudly at the more than unhelpful answer until she realized that this had actually worked, that the book had replied. A quick thought later she formulated her question a bit differently.

"What are you?"

'Gri. m. oire.' was the only thing that lit up from the pages.

"And what am I supposed to do with that answer?" Hermione spat back at the book and felt ridiculous for becoming angry with an item.

Instead of letting letters glow to answer Hermione, the Grimoire sliced away a corner of a page which then flew lazily through the room towards one of the corners in which the dark books were stacked. After a bit of a flight the little piece of parchment got stuck on a massive tome that was under dozens of other huge tomes. Hastily Hermione dug out the tome and just gave a little "oh" sound when she saw the title of the book. _'Grimoires and their Masters – about the forgotten servants and how to utilize them.'_

Hermione dragged the heavy book to the desk and laid it next to the Grimoire. She saw with a bit of awe how the sliced corner-piece attached itself back. Hermione couldn't help but wonder if that would also work in the Hogwarts library and how much easier it would make her research for homework.

As she opened the tome she was overwhelmed with the table of content. Apparently Grimoires were quite the big topic. She began to read and found challenge in making sense of the old english language that made it hard for her to understand sometimes. The first chapter was about what a Grimoire was. Hermione nearly wanted to skip the chapter when the word 'creature' peeked her interest.

 _Just a few sorcerers, wizards and warlocks know about the real nature of their grimoires. This is not too surprising, since they're mostly made_ _ **for**_ _them instead of_ _ **by**_ _them. To realize the significance of this detail one must acquaint himself with the Art of Summoning mastered first by the ancient Summoner Solomon. In the ancient Art of Summoning the invitation spoken can also come from a proxy summoner who acts for the actual one who gives the sacrifice. A technique used mostly to summon abyssal beasts and great demonlords._

 _Most commission their grimoires at their local summoner instead of doing it themselves. But producing a grimoire with a proxy leads to a unfortunate fall in usability of the grimoire, something that few recognize due to the solely basic and practical use of these valuable items. These are the vast majority of grimoires and shall be called "dead books" in this text since that is in essence what they are. Nothing more than a powerful magical item._

 _So what is the other type then? The other type is the, in my humble opinion, most valuable demonic creature that a sorcerer can fuse his soul with..._

Hermione felt anxiety building up in her chest but what she just read was too shocking to even form a scream. What the hell does this text mean 'demonic creature', 'fuse his soul with', its a freakin book! If thats true, she thought, then she was in some real trouble. Summoning a wisp could maybe be seen as teenage recklessness. But summoning a demon, no matter how good he'd look in a bookshelve, was an entirely different story. Completely forgetting about that whole soul thing. What did that even mean?

As if the Grimoire sensed her emotions the pages turned to the recipe of the Polyjuice Potion. Hermione couldn't stop herself from letting out a bitter laugh at that and immediately was crept out again. The book, her grimoire, tried to cheer her up.

"What did I get into here? This isn't good, this isn't good at all." she whispered to herself. She needed to talk to someone, but who could she trust with something like this? Molly Weasley would hex her into oblivion and back for looking at dark magic, let alone for using it. Ron would be the same. As much as she liked him, he'd repeat his families opinions without a second thought, including the easy dogma of 'dark arts equals dark witch'. She wasn't so sure about Harry. Would he see her reasoning, forgive her her curiosity? Maybe if she chose the right words? Hermione thought about the other members of the Order. Dumbledore was the most knowledgeable wizard she knew but he wouldn't help her even if he could. Not with this. Lupin, Moody, Arthur Weasley,... every reliable Order member was completely out of the question.

"I need to know more." she said to herself, trying to calm her nerves. Again she remembered what her father said to her once. 'Ignorance makes one fear.' When he told her this, it was because she had asked him about a immigrant kid at her school that acted unlike anyone she had ever met. Her father had been right to give her a book on arabian cultures. It had made her understand, at least a bit. She hadn't been able to understand half of it at this age.

'But was this similar?' she asked herself. Would further research banish the fear and insecurity, or just move her somewhere where she couldn't escape the trap anymore?

She nervously tapped her quill onto the big tome, trying to figure out if she dared read even one more line. She went back to the table of content and scanned it quickly. There it was, Chapter 3, the binding of a grimoire to a summoners soul.

Hermione stared at the few words and pondered about her situation, weighted her options. If she could just talk to someone, it would clear her head in an instant. But she was horrified of the idea of confessing her actions, or rather, the consequences of it. All she had ever heard of Azkaban were stories of horror and terror, endless depression and sadness. It sounded like something one would find in 'Dantes Inferno' or other visions of hell and Hermione surely wasn't keen on going to hell for what she did.

Hermione sighed and let her head hang low over the first pages of the tome. This was the second year all over again, just that now she would have to deal with much more severe punishment than a year of detention for making a polyjuice potion. She had been terrified of anyone finding out even though she had hid her fear quite well from her two best friends. But this time was even worse since even if she would want to share her fear, she had no one to do so.

Hermione took a piece of parchment and bookmarked chapter three. She needed to sleep about this, sort her mind and calm herself. She was sure, she needed to deal with this and she needed to do it alone.

With a bit of reluctance she grabbed her Grimoire and tip-toed back to her room where Ginny slept just as tight as before. She quickly changed into her nightgown, placed the Grimoire between her other books and went to bed where her mind began to race.

She tried to order her head, see clearly but the more and more she tried, the more she lost track of her thoughts. Everything she thought of crumbled away from her, failed in the scenarios she imagined or she lacked vital information about it. How did a Grimoire work? What was it? How was it connected to her soul? What did that even mean? She never believed in the things she read in the many books in the Hogwarts library that mentioned souls, since she didn't believe in souls. Whenever she read the word she was sure that what it meant was simply the magic within a witch or wizard, that it was synonymous. But now she doubted this believe of her for the first time. What if there really was a fourth part in her and this demon, her Grimoire really did connect with it?

Hermione moaned in frustration, because her thought never brought her even close to an answer and because they kept her wide awake. It was way after midnight when she finally found some sleep.

Hermione sat on a wide grassland, full with beautiful wild flowers and grass of poweful green that was freshly mowed in a big diameter around a small, medieval cottage with walls made of granite and a roof made of hay. The smell of the grass made her happy and the view over the grassland was amazingly peaceful and calm. Far away were huge mountains with snow on their peaks. A bit closer was a pond with fishes and frogs living in it. When she looked into the sky, clouds lingered in the nearly windless air and formed friendly white cottonballs.

She slowly stood up and moved around the cottage. It stood on a small hill in the middle of endless grasslands on all sides and when she came to the other side Hermione saw an ocean at the horizon. There was no other houses, no sign of human life and she felt not a single care on her mind.

Hermione took in the scene for a long time, how long, she couldn't tell. The smell of the freshly mowed grass filled her head and reminded her of all the good times with her parents in the forests and grasslands of Europe. She could swear that the mountains on the horizon looked like the french alps and the faint scent of salt from the ocean reminded her of croatia. The pond was the spitting image of her grandfathers carp breeding in Wales. Happy memories made up her surroundings and realizing this she tried to figure out where she remembered the cottage from. She couldn't tell and so she decided to look inside.

The cottage had two small windows on every side and when Hermione looked through them she saw a barely furnished single room, with a chimney, a bed, a dining table with four chairs and a desk. The door to the room was made from simple wooden planks, held together by copper fittings. Hermione expected to enter the small room but when she opened the door she found herself standing in a beautiful library, full of books, tomes and scrolls, filling the shelves that covered the walls of the hall. The room was at least ten meters high and the dome over the circular layout was richly decorated with small ornaments and the biblical scene of Eva taking the apple from the snake in the garden of Eden. In the middle of the room was a single desk, lit by the light from the windows that seemed to come from not just one sun, but all directions at the same time.

At the table she saw a girl, about her own age, reading a small book with a red cover. Her hair was wild, floating around her as if there was wind in the room and its color reminded one of the space between stars. Her skin was white as snow, with the exception of two black stripes coming from her eyes and fading out at her chin. Her eyes stunned Hermione as the girl looked at her in cautious curiosity. They were blue and seemed to be lit by a fire within her, reminding Hermione of a sapphire she once held before a bonfire. The girl was barely covered, just clad in a single stripe of cloth around her breasts, the lower body was still covered by the desk, but Hermione was sure that she wouldn't have much more to cover that part. When the girl stood up Hermione was proved wrong. Her lower body was covered to the floor in several layers of black silk that also behaved like she was standing in the wind.

She looked at Hermione as if she tried to figure out something, narrowing her eyes and circling around her. While she made her way around Hermione she came closer and closer until she stood just a few meters away from her, fixating Hermiones eyes.

"This one greets you, creator." spoke the girl and her voice sounded like an echo of a dozen voices.

It didn't took Hermione long to make the connection, but still the girl laughed at her dumbstruck face. Her giggles sounded like a playground filled with children and echoed through the library.

"Where am I and who are you?" Hermione asked to confirm her suspicions.

"This is creators mind. This one is who creator summoned from between." the girl answered.

"You are the demon, right? And this isn't a dream." Hermione said, more to herself than to the girl. "What is your name?"

"This one is known to creator as Grimoire but not as name, but as thing. Creator has to give a name to make this one a servant instead of serving."

"So it is true, you are the demon and you are connected to my soul." Hermione didn't know if she felt better or worse realizing this. For one, this meant everything was real. On the other hand, she could now deal with something, have an image of what was going on. The girl, safe her voice, didn't feel menacing, let alone dangerous.

The girl nodded slightly and her face grew concerned. "Yes, this one is connected to creators soul and mind, soon her magic. You have summoned this one from the between, did you not?"

"It was an mistake. I didn't know that a demon would latch itself on my soul, I never wanted this." Hermione shunned herself when she realized what her harsh words did to the demon but quickly regained her confidence when she remembered that it was this girl who did, whatever she did, to her soul. "It never said in the book that a demon would come. It said I'd get a book that remembers what I want it to remember, a powerful item. You were not invited."

The girls face grew angry and she quickly turned away from Hermione. "If you want this one to be item, you can't have it. This one is no item, no thing. This one lives. This one will not die like its brethren. This one will live, either with creator or against her. It is creators choice." she sprinted in front of Hermione and poked her index finger against the brown haired witches forehead. "This one is not responsible for creators idiocy. This one heard voice calling from the plane of living and left the between. This one was invited. Loudly and clearly."

"But I didn't know..."

"Not knowing is no excuse. It is answer of weakling, of coward. Are you weak?"

"No, I'm not, I'm just...just..:"

"Fear? Is creator of fear and horror? What does she fear, what makes her cower when she has power at her hands?" The demons face was covered with dark veins that pumped with the beating of her heart. Her face was twisted in a angry visage and her voice and its echoes rich with venom.

Hermione was close to crying. "No power would safe me from Azkaban! I could be imprisoned for summoning you, damnit!"

Hermione paced around the library, searching for words and calming herself. When she first had seen the girl she had suspected her to be the demon and yet she hadn't thought that she would be so vicious. She sank to the floor next to a shelve and leaned against the books, giving up on trying to appear strong before the demon.

"Creator won't go to the prison of the never living if she gives a name. This one gives power if creator gives a home. This one makes creator stronger if she lets her. This one..."

"Rukh." interrupted Hermione. "I name you Rukh."

The demon girl looked surprised at Hermione, her words got stuck in her throat. "Rukh." she repeated. "This one likes the name. Rukh it is." she said, smiling at Hermione who felt a strange rush of different feelings flowing through her body as if cramps and relaxation happened simultaneously.

"What was that?" she asked Rukh.

"Rukh is now your servant, creator. Now we are connected and Rukh will be able to talk to you, not through letters but through your mind." she explained. "We shall become powerful. Power is good, yes?"

The demon walked to her and placed herself next to her, still smiling brightly at the witch. Hermione looked into her sapphire eyes and felt as if she looked at someone she had known for a long time and the longer she looked the more she felt that way. It was strange for Hermione to think that she was currently in her own mind, talking to a demon. It didn't feel real and yet so far away from being a dream.

"What am I supposed to do, Rukh? I can't talk to anyone without risking a lifetime of imprisonment and I didn't lie when I said I didn't know. I have no clue what I've done, really." Hermione slammed her fist against the floor. "It was freakin' stupid of me. I should've read up on this before summoning you."

"What do you fear Rukh is? What would calm your mind, creator and what would remove the regret in your heart?" Rukh's voice was calm and silent, so close that Hermione thought she whispered in her ear.

"You're a demon and summoning you is illegal, no matter what. I... I think... I don't know."

"You fear not Rukh but what this one means to others. You fear what this existence does with yours."

"Yes. Yes, you're right." Hermione admitted. "What if having you means that the world sees me as an enemy?"

"Then those that see it like that shall be destroyed." Rukh answered coldly.

"What do you mean, destroyed?" Hermione breathed back. The way the demon said it made her shiver. "Destroyed as in...kill? I won't do that!"

The demon shrugged and stood up. Something startled her and she looked up to the dome at nothing.

"Creator's body is waking up." she stated and before Hermione could ask anything else her eyes flew up and she stared at the ceiling of her room in Grimmauld Place Number 12.


	3. This voice inside my head - 03

The feeling of having a demon inside was an odd one, to say the least. After she woke up, Hermione felt Rukh inside of her, moving around her organs and stroking her muscles like mist caresses the skin in the morning hours of an autumn day, just on the inside. Every move, every breath reminded Hermione that the demon was making herself a home inside of her. When her lungs expanded, the mist moved along lazily, like stretchy cloth wrapped around her ribs.

As much as Rukh was connected to her body, her mind had yet to connect with Rukh's. Hermione felt when Rukh showed interest or was amused by something. Small emotional peaks like that came to her mind like distant memories and vanished just as fast. Especially the dining manners of Ron made the demon girl laugh in Hermione's mind, while she herself was rather put off by the way in which the redhead stuffed his roastbeef into his mouth.

Talking to the demon girl proved to be impossible. Whenever she tried to communicate she felt a barrier between them. When Rukh answered she did so unintelligible as if she talked through several layers of pillows. It frustrated Hermione greatly to be limited to the demons messages over the physical representation of her, the book. On the bright side, her messages became clearer, her sentences longer so that conversation was possible.

Those conversations circled around the only two things on Hermiones mind and whenever she thought she found an answer to them, Rukh immediately brought up another point that just shoved another layer of complexity on the matter.

On one hand, Hermione was horrified by suddenly being, at least in the eyes of the law, a dark witch and that she could face up to a lifetime in Azkaban, depending on how hard it was to exorcise the demon from her body. This alone gave her sleepless nights and made her paranoid of speaking. What if a careless word slipped her tongue, what if there are spells that could detect her, for a lack of better words, infection and what – by Merlin and Morgana – would happen if she couldn't move through the Hogwarts wards?

But then her mind twisted around and the pale, beautiful face of Rukh grinned at her.

 _Is creator of fear and horror? What does she fear, what makes her cower when she has power at her hands?_

The words of the demon had rung in her mind since she stood up and they hadn't yet stopped. Even through dinner, Hermione thought about the sentence.

 _What does she fear, what makes her cower when she has power at her hands?_

Hermione had to admit that she lied to herself when she wondered what the demon meant by the 'power at her hands'. Rukh had meant herself and the magic that came with her. Hermione felt it just like she felt the mist that was Rukh. Her magic was in turmoil, like a pond that got a boulder thrown into it and began to resettle itself around the boulder, making it part of the pond.

All this pondering made her worried, scared and paranoid, but also, curious. What could Rukh do? Hermione knew next to nothing about Grimoires or how they worked, let alone what living Grimoires could do. She shuddered when she realized that she also had no idea how this whole thing would change her. Would there be physical changes, maybe even visible changes?

She stabbed the last remaining piece of beef on her plate with a force that killed the cow a second time, before angrily munching away on the meat. She'd have to revisit the attic and she had to figure out what would happen. Not knowing brought upon her this mess in the first place.

"Hermione? Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes...I'm...yes." she stuttered even before she saw who spoke to her. A concerned looking Tonks faced her and it seemed like Hermione's answer didn't convince her.

"You seem distant. Is there something on your mind?" she asked. Then she looked around the room and made sure that the other people in the kitchen wouldn't listen in. "Is it because Harry is coming tonight?"

Hermione startled. She had completely forgotten about Harry's arrival. Her eyes went wide when she remembered that she had never written to him. Oh, and was Tonks just suggesting that she fancied Harry?

"No, no... I'm just..." she stuttered but couldn't get another word out. Not until the mist in her body began to move and Hermione felt it throbbing in her tung and her jaw. She tried to hold back, but she couldn't help it as her lower face was out of her control.

"Actually, yes. Do you think...? I mean... I really don't want this to get between me and Ginny."

Tonks beamed at her and waved it off. "Oh. Isn't Ginny interested in that Thomas boy?"

"I think they have some sort of... well, they like each other."

"Like you and Harry?" the pink haired Auror asked while sporting a smile from one ear to the other.

To answer that Rukh made the corners of Hermione's mouth go slightly upwards. Not nearly enough to call it a smile, but enough to tell Tonks that she was right.

"Alright then. I'm off. Moody and the others are waiting. See you later." With that Tonks left the kitchen and made her way to the front door. At the same time Rukh left Hermiones jaw and gave her tung free.

Hermione sprung up and had to force herself not to run to her room.

Harry's arrival was, to say the least, uncomfortable. Over her own problem she had completely forgotten about her friend who had to endure weeks of boredom and aversion just to be attacked by a dementor at the end of it.

The Ministry's reaction had made her angry at first. It was just another display of the flexibility of the magical law in the eyes of the powerful. Minister Fudge wanted Harry gone from the magical society and apparently had no problem with acting like a totalitarian dictator in order to make it happen. When her anger subsided, she has only been able to think about what they'd do with her if they'd ignore the laws for a case of underage magic, even if it was Harry Potter's case.

And to top it all off, both of his friends hadn't written a single line to Harry. Sure, Dumbledore had told them not to include valuable information about the Order or the intelligence they had gathered. But both Ron and Hermione hadn't even asked how he's doing. Hermione wasn't sure why Ron hadn't written. She blamed it on his naturel of forgetting about these things. It frustrated her greatly, however, that she had a perfectly good explanation with no one to share it with.

" _I didn't write you because I got an 'O' on dark magicks."_ Now, that wouldn't sit right with him, she reckoned.

This night Hermione didn't go up into the attic to read. She lay in her bed and waited to fall asleep in order to get eye to eye with the demon. It has been a challenge to conceal her anger at Rukh. And not just her anger, also her insecurity and the constant self-doubt after the incident. She had hugged Harry tightly when the dust had settled. Sure, he was still irritated, but he quickly let her come closer. What has been her own doing and when had Rukh some part in the play that left Ginny fuming at her?

Once again she sat on the freshly mown lawn in front of the medieval cottage. The grasslands surrounding her moved slowly in the wind and the mountains at the horizon looked just as majestic as the last time she saw them.

The only imperfection was the small heap of misery that sat next to the cottage, with the arms around her shins and her face hidden between them and her hair. Her skin wasn't as perfect and pale as the last time. She had small wounds all over her body and bruises that shone blue through her skin.

Hermione slowly stood up and walked towards the demon. Rukh flinched but remained at her place, trying to become an even smaller ball.

"What happened to you?" Hermione asked in a neutral tone, even though she was a bit concerned for the demon girl.

"This one lost. Rukh acknowledges your power, creator."

"Uhm... I think I can't follow?" Hermione let go of the neutral look and instead faced Rukh with obvious confusion.

"Rukh tried to take over and creator punished her, what is there not to follow?" the demon said in anger and lifted her head to meet Hermiones eyes. One eye was swollen and the sapphire blue mixed with red as if she had received a fierce punch to the face.

"Punished you? You took over alright – and we're talking about this too – and then you stayed silent. I never punished you."

Rukh shook her head and rolled her eyes, making Hermione feel like she had just missed something very obvious. "Creator was angry at Rukh and this one tried to fight. This one thought that creator was weak, but creator is strong and beat her to a pulp."

Rukh stood up, but remained in a cowering posture. Her head still hung low and her shoulders were close to her head while her arms seemed ready to defend against an attack. "This one serves you from now on. Rukh was worried, but she is no more. How can this one serve?"

"For starters, tell me why you thought its necessary to enforce the believe that I fancied Harry."

"Creator doesn't? There is such warmth every time she thinks about the marked one. Rukh just tried to move towards the warmth." the demon answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Alright... but, don't!" Hermione ordered. "I can't start a relationship with Harry. No way."

"Why not?" the demon asked. She moved closer to Hermione, still bowed, but her face clearly lit up in interest. "Is it the same with the marked one as it is with Rukh?"

"What do you...? No. I just don't have feelings for..." but Hermione stopped mid-sentence when she saw the demon slowly raising her right eyebrow. She threw up her hands in surrender and angrily turned her back on Rukh. "Fine! Its not like there is any use in lying to you, is there?"

"No, not really. This one sees what creator feels. Whatever creator longs for is this ones surrounding. Creator may be powerful, but she is unable to hide her emotions and desires."

"Oh, what do you even know?" Hermione huffed, feeling incredibly exposed. Didn't the demon just say that she won over her? It certainly didn't feel like it.

"Rukh knows that the touch of the marked one makes her heart race. Rukh knows that creator longs for his touch. So... this one wonders, why doesn't she go for it?"

"You know that as well, I suppose." Hermione spat back. "Don't ask me questions you know the answer to."

"This one knows, but doesn't understand. Knowledge without understanding is rather useless, doesn't creator agree?"

"What don't you understand, Rukh? Is it that I can't possibly barge into this, risking my place within my second family? Is it that even if I wanted to, I'd have no chance against Ginny Weasley?" Hermione spun around and gestured at her body. "Look at me and then use my eyes to look at Ginny Weasley. And lets not forget about the myriad of other girls that... Rukh?"

Hermione stopped her rant when the demon girl suddenly collapsed before her, holding her belly. She ran towards Rukh but stopped in her tracks as she saw a puddle of black liquid soil the grass beneath Rukh. "What... Rukh, what? Are you alright?"

"This one is sorry. Rukh didn't want creator to be angry at her. This one..." but she couldn't speak more because Hermione lay a finger on her mouth and pulled her into her lap and a tight hug of her right arm. With careful hands she removed Rukh's from the wound and looked at it. A sharp intake of breath was followed by a whispered "I'm so sorry." Rukh couldn't hear it as the sensation of being wrapped in her creators arms was a rather overwhelming one. Hermiones body pressed against her own and she could feel that Hermione never meant to hurt her.

A sharp pain let her snap out of her stupor. The wound began to close like all the others before and it did so hurting as much as her previous wounds. Rukhs face twisted into a pained visage and not even the tight hug and the incredible feeling of Hermiones magic was able to distract her. Her flesh closed slowly and soon the blood stopped running from her belly. Not long after that, the wound was completely closed and Rukh was able to roll from Hermiones lap and stand up, even though her stand was rather unsteady. She collected her thought and the realization that Hermione didn't mean to hurt her let her crack a weak smile. If she couldn't take over, she at least had a somewhat comfortable home within her. Even if her creator still had much to learn. But then again, Rukh thought, so had she. Shaking off the warm feelings she startled when she thought about how close she had come to her creators core.

"Creator... m-must not touch Rukh like... l-like this again." she stuttered, still a bit shaking from the pain.

Hermione still kneeled before her, looking worriedly at her. "Why not? You seemed to calm down when I did so."

"We must not merge our essences, creator."

"What do you mean...cores?" Hermione asked slowly. She had heard of some theories she had dismissed as stuff the Quibbler would write about. "You don't mean the so called, magical cores, do you?"

"The cores of our souls, the middle of our existence, not our magic. We must not merge or else we will both loose ourselves." Rukh answered in a tone that left no room for doubt. The demon girl was serious and her look made it all the more clear.

But still, Hermione wasn't quite satisfied with this bit of information. "What are these cores, exactly? I mean... aren't you in my soul, already? Haven't we already merged?"

Rukh shook her head no. "No. This one took residence in between creators mind, body, magic and soul. Rukh becomes her fifth part, completing her. This one doesn't know what happens when the essences merge, but she is sure its nothing good."

"I see." Hermione nodded. That was certainly uninformative. "I expected you to know more about this subject, to be honest." she added with a rather disappointed tone.

"Rukh is sorry. But this one is so young, how would she know?"

"I reckoned you'd picked up on some knowledge back where you came from." Hermione replied.

Rukh looked Hermione in the eyes with a questioning look. It took a while but then the demon nodded as if she just found something out. "Creator doesn't know where this one comes from, yes?"

"You said something about the 'between' but honestly, I have no idea what you mean by that."

"It is the place between the living and the dead. There is no knowledge there, just fleeting emotions and desires in between the nothingness. My brethren and I live of the bit of mind and magic that surrounds the passing souls, but there is no learning there." Rukh stopped and looked away to the mountains. "This one can't remember how nothing felt, now that she knows how living feels. Also, this ones first thoughts were given by creator. This is why Rukh names her creator."

"So...what you're saying is that you didn't live, didn't think before I summoned you? But you knew about the cores in the first place. Its not like... Or could it be?" Hermione stopped and closed her eyes to think more clearly.

"The knowledge is within the deepest corners, the oldest memories of creators self. Rukh looked there first. There are many things creator seemed to have forgotten from her time before."

"The time before?" Hermione asked. "And what knowledge. Are you speaking about reincarnation?"

Rukh shook her head. "This one is talking about... fundamental... knowledge that is within. Rukh isn't sure how to say, doesn't understand herself."

"So all your knowledge is basically mine, just not easily accessible for me?" Hermione summarized. "That means..."

"It is what the book speaks about, is it not?" Rukh shrugged as she spoke what Hermione thought. "It is as big as its needed and forgets the spells the sorcerer and summoner wants to forget while saving the knowledge the summoner needs to remember. It holds as treasures the moments that define the summoner and keeps these memories to form the character of its owner."

Hermione nodded at the familiar words. This was it, but much – much more than she had interpreted into these words before. She had thought that the book meant knowledge in a sense of 'things the summoner had learned' but it obviously went much deeper. The knowledge of the cores was prove enough that there was something within her she didn't know of, but Rukh was able to harness. Given that the demon was honest with her.

Suddenly a wind blew over the fields and made the grasslands around them dance as waves in the breeze that quickly became a storm.

"What now?" Hermione sighed.

"Creator is being woken up." Rukh stated. "Its the girl...Ginny."

"Oh, no. She's probably going to..." Hermione started but before she could say more her eyes flew up and she looked up to a frowning Ginny. Scratch that, she looked up to a Ginny that looked like she had cried for hours.

"Tell me the truth!" she hissed with a venom. "Do you fancy Harry or don't you?" Her question was merely a disguise for the accusation behind her words. Hermione didn't register her words immediately. Being woken like that, especially when she had been inside her own mind, was disorienting to say the least.

"I... er... Ginny..." she stuttered, but her mouth was dry and the words got stuck in her throat.

"Don't you dare! You know I like him. You know how much he means to me!" she spat back, her voice still down but nonetheless bold.

This time, Rukh asked if she was allowed to handle it. The mist crept through her neck and throat but never took control. When Hermione let a simple 'No' go through her mind, the mist went back to settle down around her organs. This was Ginny, after all, she would handle it.

"Ginny! I don't fancy Harry. Period." she said with finality in her voice.

Ginny visibly relaxed but didn't move from Hermiones bed. She took in breath and then opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again with a shake of her head. Somewhat defeated looking she made her way back to her bed and laid down to sleep.

Hermione did so as well and hoped she would be able to finish her conversation with Rukh. But sleep would have to wait. The mist crept along her spine and, at least that was how it felt to Hermione, asked for entry. She allowed the mist to make her way around her brain and settle down between her skull and brain mass. She somehow knew that Rukh wasn't doing something dangerous, or harmful and it felt oddly comforting. The mind of the demon seemed to be right next to hers, listening to her every thought and whispering into Hermiones ears.

" _Creator lied to the other witch. Why?"_ came the ethereal voice of Rukh through Hermiones mind like a memory of something she had heard seconds ago.

" _Because its..."_ Hermione couldn't continue. Using the word 'truth' would just make Rukh roll her eyes. Of course it wasn't the truth, Hermione admited to herself. But she also knew that Ginny Weasley would never forgive her if she tried to – what exactly? She wouldn't steal Harry. They weren't together, nor even close to it. She sighed in her mind. There was no point to it anyway. If not for Ginny Weasley, then for Molly Weasley. The matriarch of the Weasley family could be cunning about it, when she wanted, but it was clear that she wanted Harry Potter as her son in law. Not for his money, not for his fame, but for the same reasons Hermione became his friend. He was kind, loving, loyal, brave and, she had to be honest with herself, he began to become quite the handsome man. She shunned herself and banished the thoughts from her mind, forcing herself to think about something different. Maybe she could continue her conversation like this?

" _Rukh. About what we talked..."_

" _Its cold, creator. This one shivers. We should rest."_ interrupted Rukh and before Hermione could respond, the mist moved away from her head and back into her abdomen where it lazily surrounded her organs again.

There were no more conversations with the demon this night. Hermione slept a dreamless sleep.

 **Thanks for reading. Don't forget to review.**


	4. Lazarus, rise! - 04

_A Summoner must know of the various kinds of Grimoires and how to effectively invite just those who would serve to his advantage. This chapter provides a detailed list on the different otherworld beings and how to attract certain kinds. But note, dear reader, that speaking an invitation is, and will always be, a roll of dice, so to say. One must brace oneself for the worst, and establish barriers against malevolent Grimoires, described in the following pages._

Hermione felt nervous to read the chapter. She had figured that before she could work out where she stood, and more importantly, how she'd proceed, she first had to know what kind of guests she hosted in her body. Rukh had tried to help, but given her sources it came to no surprise to Hermione that Rukh had no idea where she stood in the world of the living.

The descriptions in the book were beyond the things Hermione expected. She took especially long for the many kinds of angels and the very descriptions of them made her somewhat jealous of the summoners that had the pleasure to meet those creatures. At that thought it felt like seeing Rukh roll her eyes in disapproval and it felt like she held her arms up in mock surrender when Hermione got stuck on a depiction of a seraphim, a six winged angel of the highest order. However, the author quickly noted that summoning a seraphim was only rarely survived and those who lived to tell the tale have gone blind by the light from the seraphim, deaf from its voice and mute from its aura. On a sidenote the author explained the difficult memory spells he used to extract the description from the summoners.

After ten pages of angels, there came twenty pages of demons. From the leviathanian hellspawns that would make any summoner that invites them turn into a mass murderer or worse, to the luzifarian demons that helped summoners reveal the secrets of the world by making them smarter, cunning and tireless. Just like with the angels, there was a point when the author repeatedly added his warnings, even though Hermione kind of figured out for herself that summoning creatures just one or two ranks under Lords of the planes of hell wasn't the most healthy of decisions to make.

After the demons followed spirits which proved to take up more pages than demons and angels combined. Fifty pages were dedicated to the powerful mirror images of all things. Hermione came to a stop when she found the wisp, mirror image of the light and wondered why it didn't connect to her soul when she summoned the little ball of light. Another question she couldn't answer. But for now she would merely make a mental note to look the actual theory of summoning up later. For now she had to identify what kind of otherworlder, as the author called them, Rukh was.

She browsed through the spirits and bookmarked some that were described as mainly benevolent, under it, the Patronus, mirror image of inner strength. However, the picture describing the Patronus was nothing like the silvery animals she knew. She quickly searched for the explanaition of the image.

 _Depending on ones thought a Patronus can be summoned to either protect or do harm. The experienced summoner might know of the perverted magic developed by the wizards that is called the Patronus charm and channels but happy memories to form into a shield against the ever mysterious dementors. A vile practice that completely misses the point of summoning a patronus. They are guardians of ones desires. If one feels scared, they protect, if one feels anger they hurt, if one feels hate, they kill. Even in things like love they can do wonders by swaying the image others have of the summoner to a more positive one. They are a weapon of choice for templers as well as for the arabians in the current wars for the sacred land and every summoner does good in remembering the invitation._

Hermione had to smile when the Grimoire next to her flew open and right after the wisp summonings, Rukh made place for the Patronus summoning and the first bit of information Hermione had gathered of the, apparently completely misunderstood, Patronus.

She expected the next round of otherworlders to be even bigger, but she found that the last sub-chapter was merely ten pages and that one being took over two pages to explain. She turned back a few pages and read the title of the last group of creatures. The author named them 'gatekeepers' but admitted that it was merely his title for them and many would also call them 'Wardens', 'Voidlings' or 'Wanderers' or simply add them to the family of demons. A few pages in she saw a picture of a pale man with a strip of black cloth over his chest, a wide, flowing mass of cloth around his legs and black stripes from his eyes that faded out at his chin. Rukh sent a wave of excitement to mix with Hermiones own. She quickly looked up the name of the demon and paled when she saw it.

 _The Necroserva – Gatekeepers to the World of the Dead_

 _Dear reader, if you have found yourself wound up with one of these creatures then rejoice. The Necroserva, as dark as their appearance might seem, are not malevolent by any means, however they also do not hesitate to take over a body if they don't see the summoner fit to be a host. Mild caution is advised._

 _The Necroservas speciality lies within the most noble and delicate craft of the necromancer due to their ability to inprison souls within the summoners soul, making the use of vessels to carry the most important ingredient for every necromancers ritual, unnecessary._

To Hermiones disappointment the author didn't really know more about Necroserva and instead went on about theories and wild speculation as to what they actually were and how they fit into the broader spectrum of otherworlders with the occasional tip, gathered from single sources.

"Noble and delicate craft of the necromancer..." Hermione murmured to herself. She has read, and more importantly heard, quite a bit about necromancy already. Although, when Hermione really thought about it, all she had really heard was how evil all of it was and all she ever read were counterspells against inferi, wraiths and other undying.

What was even more surprising to her was the fact that she didn't spring up in panic at the news that she had a necromancers demon inside of her. She guessed mostly because Rukh seemed to be as clueless as herself.

" _So... a necromancers demon, are you?"_

" _Gatekeeper, creator. A necromancers gatekeeper."_ Rukh replied with mock offence in her voice now that she knew that there was a difference. Or at least a choice in wording. _"And this one doesn't know. Rukh is actually a bit worried about... storing souls."_

Hermione nodded in understanding. She could feel with Rukh on this matter, even if the demon herself was the reason why she could understand. Having a soul within oneself, a stranger tied to ones very essence. Just thinking it felt horrible even if the real deal was, at worst, unpleasant.

" _Does creator wish to... understand, to... research?"_ Ruck asked in her mind and Hermione imagined how her inner conflict must look to the gatekeeper girl. Of course she wanted to research. She always wanted to research.

But when the Ministry despised summoning, a mostly unharmful practice, what would they do to a necromancer? Just thinking it made Hermione shiver. Even if she'd forget the law for a moment, what would Harry and the Order think if they ever found out? She didn't even want to imagine that conversation.

" _No..."_ she said in her mind.

" _Lies"_ Rukh replied.

Hermione sighed as she admit to herself that the demon was once again right about her feelings. She needed to know.

But in her heart she felt her fathers voice becoming a muffled sound and the slightly crazed cheers of curiosity grow louder. The talk of tools and wielders was a pathetic explanation and she knew as well as anybody that she would never even think of wielding necromancy against Voldemort or his Death Eaters. All she wanted was to know. She longed for knowledge to close the gaps in her mind. What could necromancy do? What were the costs? How does one harvest a soul? How does one carry such a precious thing? Eternal Life? Lichs? Banshees? Vampires?

A corner of the Grimoire ripped off and Hermione observed as it flew towards the stack of books in the corner to her left. Two lazy loops and it landed onto the side of a relatively new looking book, buried under tomes and scripture.

" _A start, creator. Maybe the end."_

" _They could sentence me to the Kiss for this."_

" _They could sentence creator to the Kiss for Rukh."_

" _No reason to give them even more grounds."_

" _No reason to stop either."_

" _What the limit then? Rukh, tell me! Whats the limit? When do we stop?"_ Hermione asked in anger.

" _Creator will stop before harm comes to those she loves. This much, Rukh feels is true. But creator lies to herself if she thinks she will ever find peace without knowing."_ Rukh answers in a shaky voice that told Hermione of the mental backhand she had just delivered.

With a huff Hermione sprung up, took two steps towards the books and pushed the tomes off the book. Hermione shook her head in mock amusement as she saw the huge picture of a skull on the cover of the book. It was surrounded by bones and depictions of human skeletons. The whole cover basically shouted 'Necromancy'.

'Lazarus, come out!' read the title and Hermione wanted to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of using the biblical quote until she saw the authors name.

Lazarus of Bethany – Akolyte under the Great One, Archmage of the Holy Roman Empire, Knight of the Order of Vultures.

"What the hell?!" she nearly shouted before she restrained herself.

She grabbed the book, hurried back the the desk and opened the book in a rush until she found the date of release.

1901

" _That explains the English."_ Rukh offered, obviously amused at her hosts confusion.

Hermione ignored the demon and skipped through the pages until she found the beginning of the text. 'Introduction' read the title of the chapter and Hermione started to read without a second thought.

 _Brother, Sister of the Arts of Death. Listen here, for this is my last deed. I am Lazarus of Bethany. I have served under the Great One and have served him after his Ascension and will serve him until my time has come to face the wardens, so I swore, so it shall be. I have withstood the lies of the false testaments and hold onto the one belief, never having found reason to doubt. I stand proud in the middle of the duality of the holy trinity and the nine sinners and fear no light nor darkness, for I have witnessed._

 _These words are to be my last mark on this world and within these pages dwells the truth of the Arts of Death, a warning and my hopes for this world._

 _I write them because I fear our noble craft is in danger of pervertion. Dark forces arise and tragedy lies on the horizon. I have seen the ride of the first bringer of the apocalypse countless times. I rode with him more often than I care to admit. The last true war is coming._

 _I have chosen the most crude language of the Anglo-Saxons, despite my hope in the the ancient and noble nations, born under the Great King, to prevail. My reason to do so is my trust in the All-Seeing Eye of my student and wife, Asha._

 _Dear brother, dear sister. If you read these words, I am dead. I have lived nearly two thousand years and I would have lived two thousand more, but to achieve what is necessary to prevent the world from the apocalypse, I have to sacrifice everything._

 _If you read this I beg you to do what is necessary to stop the forces that arise. Dark Ones of the highest order, equals to the likes of Morgana, the line of Sodom or the Burning Children of Kronos. Be wary of their names and do not believe a word of their lies, for they are the ideas that will bring destruction to the world._

 _Be wary of the names of Gellert Grindelwald and Albus Dumbledore._

"What. The. Hell?" Hermione whispered in shock. "Didn't he defeat Grindelwald?" she asked herself. Unsure what to make of the information she continued to read, but made sure to take it all with a grain of salt.

 _Read this as I beg for forgiveness. I have encouraged Charles Darwin to write as he saw fit. I have told him that humanity would understand. They understood when I encouraged Galileo. They know now that they are not the center, I thought that it would do them good to know that they are not sacred._

 _I was wrong, but I do not possess the power to reverse my foolishness. The world knows now, and it thinks like this. The dark Ones use this knowledge and twist it for their purposes. I see countless cultures perish because the strong ones deem them beneath themselves and there is no worth to their lives anymore, thanks to the theory._

 _The theory of Evolution takes over societies and they crumble under its weight._

 _Charles Darwin had planted the seed of hate within the magical societies and I watched helpless as it grew into full bloom. Why didn't I step in when he talked to the noble Houses of Europe? I don't know and I beg you for forgiveness and your assistance. Dispell the notion of Homo magi and Homo sapiens. Even if it is true that we are not of the same kind, one cannot live without the other! If one fails, the other dies with him! The muggles and the magicals are brothers. If you doubt that then at least be assured that we are equal in death and face the same gods._

 _There is hope at the horizon. After all, we of the Art of Death are strongest while standing in pools of blood and hills of corpses. We are strongest when all seems lost. It is my honest belief and fear that it is us who will deliver the final blow or stand as the last force of good._

 _If you find yourself willing to fight, join forces with one of the last of my students: Asha bin Alia al-Hashimi, Abraham Goldstein of the House of Goldstein, Ludwig von Landshut, Erwin Potschek, Perenelle Flamel nee de Villanova or Isla Hitchens of the House of Black._

 _Now read of the wisdom I have gathered through the ages and behold the truth of our most noble Craft. I await you in the Everlands._

Hermione didn't continue to read and started the Introduction chapter all over again. Then she read it a third time. Then a fourth time. Yet, she still couldn't even grasp a string of thought. All she could think about was the combination of things that made no sense, the hints towards the World Wars and how everything seemed to fail to connect.

Trying to understand, she latched onto the things she could order. Perenelle Flamel was someone she had heard about. Gellert Grindelwald was a known factor. What did the headmaster do to make the list with him, even if this book would tells lies?

" _Everyone makes mistakes? No?"_ Rukh offered.

" _You need to make a bit more than a mistake to end up side to side with Gellert Grindelwald. The man was a monster. Albus Dumbledore is one of the kindest people I know."_ Hermione replied.

" _And yet he is named."_ Rukh answered calmly. _"What do you really know of Dumbledore? This one sees not much."_

" _Its more..."_

" _A feeling? A faint impression? Wishful thinking?"_

Hermione stayed silent for nearly a minute, ordering her mind and breathing deeply before she admited _"Spot on. Again."_

Laying the subject aside, Hermione continued to read past the chapter. She had to admit that she barely understood a word. She could've just read a manual for the construction of a spaceshuttle, it would have produced just as much, if not even more usable information for her.

The author wrote in words she couldn't understand or were without context for her. He sometimes even used words from different languages and letters she knew from the museum of history at best, claiming that the simplistic and rather barbaric language English didn't provide him with enough choice.

She sighed and shut the book close. There would be nothing to gain from it than headache and frustration.

Calling it a night, Hermione left the attic and went to bed as quickly as she could. She spent her dreams discussing her findings with Rukh, with no progress to speak of. They both had to admit that whatever Lazarus of Bethany wanted to tell them, it would be hell to decipher it.


	5. Testing into Necromancy 101 - 05

_Harvesting a broken - a viridian soul provides a great challenge to the average necromancer. The star of David must stand in direct line to the combined forces of the Hand of Fatima with a sacred angle to at least three of the nine sinners. Furthermore one must block the soulstream by engaging in a standard blocking to keep the soul from splitting into several otherworlds._

 _These harvests work best when the axis of the world faces the path of Titan and Mercury in a ninety degree angle, but will work regardless of system positioning. However, a necromancer must be alerted when harvesting the souls of warriors if he stands under the watchful eyes of Ares._

 **'Thud'** made Hermiones head when she slammed it onto her desk.

"Three nights! Nothing! Fuck this fucking ancient cunt asshole fuckdickweed DAMNIT!"

All Rukh had to offer was a snort at the choice of words that came from Hermiones mouth. The demon refrained from any comments, however, since she felt and saw how the frustration of her host took its toll. Three nights, indeed. Three nights in which Hermione merely lay in bed until her roommate slept tight. A combined sleep duration of six hours, gathered through naps during the day, that made itself visible in the bags under her eyes that she explained away with nightmares.

 _Not really a lie_ Rukh thought. Not understanding made her host loose her cool quicker than nest robbers would a breeding dragon mother. Her host was furious at the author and herself. The red sky and raging storm around Rukh were just the visible warnings for the demon to shut her mouth if nothing intelligent was about to come from it. For all intents and purposes, it was a nightmare.

Tonights chapter was about harvesting souls and just like the last nights Hermione didn't get any of it. **'Thud Thud Thud'** made her head as she repeatedly slammed it onto the desk.

" _Better now?"_ asked a concerned Rukh.

" _Absolutely not."_ Hermione hissed back. It wasn't just her frustration that nagged on her. Hogwarts was approaching fast. In just two weeks, she would be off to Hogwarts and be stuck with her normal academic efforts, unable to continue her research.

" _Couldn't creator just take the books with her?"_

" _Honestly? I don't even know. Hogwarts has barriers against the dark arts, but I'm unsure about written word on paper."_

" _No use risking it, Rukh supposes."_

" _No... No use, no need. Its not like we're getting anywhere with this. I would need... I would need... I would need..."_

" _An introduction?"_

" _Exactly."_ Hermione sighed in her mind and loudly outside of it. _"But where would one find an instructor for necromancy without being caught by Aurors in Knockturn Alley? If that wretched place is even frequented by necromancers. Everything this triple-damned fuckwit of an author..."_

Rukh once again snorted loudly at her hosts choice of words and forgotten manners.

" _...says about necromancy makes it look like something sacred and holy. Maybe other necromancers are as deluded as he was and don't mingle with, what they would say, actual dark wizards?"_

Having nothing to add, Rukh just silently agreed. What was there to do? Dead ends after every turn.

Hermione flipped through the pages in frustration and flew over the chapters. She had read 'Introduction', 'Misconception' and 'Harvest' by now. The next one would be 'Ritual' and the one after that 'Control'.

Just a quick glance told her that the chapters were equally cryptic in their wording and void of explanations as the first three. If anything, this was advanced necromancy.

She flipped through the book quicker and merely read a few of the titles. 'A banshees song', 'Life after Life', 'Commanding' and finally, as she reached the end of the books she found a single page chapter that was titled 'Contact'.

" _Are you kidding me?"_

 **'Thud'**

" _Aren't you supposed to be able to check through books?"_ Hermione shouted through her mind. She could feel the demon crumble under her angry onslaught and calmed herself in an instant.

" _This one... Rukh is sorry, creator. The page... its new. It wasn't there before!"_

" _What?!"_

Hermione immediatly began to read with new found motivation. There it was, the answer. Just like that.

 _Dear Brother, dear sister. If you read this page you have proven yourself worthy of a chance to be introduced to the Art of Death, properly._

 _You may have found yourself frustrated, angry at me and my words. Good. Remember this feeling for you are about to start on a path of nothing but frustration and anger. But rest assured – its worth it._

 _The invitation is 'Kronos'._

Below Hermione found a simple ritual, made up of some simple runes that were already drawn on the page.

"So, if I just... Kronos" she said and felt magic flow through her body into the circle. The runes began to glow first, then the lines connecting them. An azure mist came from the pages and formed an empty circle just before Hermione's face.

The bushy haired witch watched stunned as the attic glowed with the blue light from the ritual. The circle began to slowly rotate. With every full round, more and more... depth came to it. A blur of colors, some movement but all just splashes of color.

Slowly the blur sharpened and silhouettes became visible. It sharpened further and Hermione found herself staring into what seemed to be a workshop of sorts.

The room was rather dark, but comfy looking. Magical lights shone from runestones and illuminated the room with an eerie white light. Cupboards, vitrines and desks stood at the walls on every side of the room and were filled with thousands of different things. Hermione could make out potion ingredients, writing equipment and objects she couldn't even try to name.

However, what really peeked her interest was the person working in the middle of the room over a metal table. The person was gaunt and his skin white as paper. He was bald and his clothes hung on him like they didn't belong there. The man... Hermione was sure it was a man... stood above the table in deep concentration, mumbling some unintelligible words to himself.

Hermione didn't dare to talk. She wasn't even sure if he could see her, let alone hear her, but she was too stunned to try. Curious as to what the man did, she looked at the table. The small frame of the gaunt man hid the object of his work well and Hermione had to wait until he moved to gather something from one of the many cupboards, just to see...

"MERLIN!" she shouted and sprung up from her chair.

The man in the workshop started as if explosives went off beside his ears and threw around ingredients in shock. His head turned so fast, he nearly snapped his neck and big, fogged eyes looked terrified at Hermione.

Neither she nor the man knew what to do and stared at each other through the circle connecting them until he turned around and sprinted from the workshop shouting "Mistress!" through the house the room was in.

Hermione sat back down and fixated the table in the room with a horrified glance. There on the cold metal was the body... the body of...

"WHO ARE YOU?!" shouted a deep female voice through the circle. Her face was twisted in rage, amplified by her lilac colored eyes that reminded Hermione of a certain Death Eater maniac.

"I- I- I-" Hermione stuttered.

"What hellspawn's child are you? Lestranges? Malfoy? _RIDDLE?_ " she shouted again in rage while the gaunt man cowered behind her in nothing short of absolute horror. "Answer me!"

"I- I- No! My name is- is-"

"ENGLISH GIRL! Sounds like you're the daughter of that inbred Goyle!"

"Granger!" Hermione finally answered. She felt the sweat on her forehead and let out the breath she realized she was holding. That woman was absolutely intimidating. Her lilac eyes fixated Hermione with loathing and promised a slow death.

"I don't know a family with that name. New nobility? Foreigners? I doubt Cygnus would let his daughters marry some wild west wizard, let alone some spoiled brat of an upstart family." the horrifying woman said slowly. Her eyes stayed at Hermione face and gazed into deep into the brown of her iris'. "So, who exactly are you, girl and how did you find the book?"

"I- I'm..." Hermione started and breathed once again to calm her nerves and form coherent sentences. "I'm Hermione Granger. I'm in my fifth year in Hogwarts. I..."

"Your parents, girl!" the woman interrupted.

"Tom and Michelle Granger. They're... they're dentists. Muggles."

"WHAT?!" The woman screeched and for the first time since she had entered the workshop, her face changed. A look of utter confusion was plastered on her face before she regained her senses and fell back into her angry persona. Hermione just didn't buy it anymore. At least not as much as before.

"You're a muggleborn, girl?" she asked in a curious tone.

"Yes." Hermione said quickly and then added. "Ma'am. The body on the table... thats... thats..."

"A gift to someone who needs it."

"But... But she..." Hermione gasped at the sheer impossibility of what she just saw. "But she's dead!"

That brought an amused smile to the woman in the workshop and even the gaunt man behind her chuckled in amusement.

"Whats so funny?" Hermione demanded.

"Girl. The fact that we are speaking right now tells me that you probably already know that 'dead' does not equal 'gone'."

"But she was killed. With the Killing Curse! Years ago"

"And I brought her back. Chapter 13, if you wonder. Rearranging Viridian souls."

"But... How?"

Another smile from the woman. "Right question. No time to answer, I'm afraid. Just know that the Killing Curse is in no shape or form death. Its a threshold. One that just very few in history ever not stepped over. This one here tried to decide for fourteen years until I made a proposal. Its merely a temporary removal from the world of the living. Not death. Do you know the difference?"

Hermione shook her head in frustration.

"Would you like to know?"

Hermione nodded. Nothing would make her more happy in this moment.

However, all she got from the woman was an even brighter smile.

"Who are you?" Hermione asked while doubting to get an answer.

"I would've thought you know that. After all, you were the one calling for me." she smiled knowingly. "You seem to be a smart one, girl. Your eyes tell me as much. Take a guess."

Hermione frowned in concentration and cleared her mind from all the distractions. She gathered quickly what she knew about the woman.

" _She obviously knows the Black family. She called the husbands of the Black women hellspawns... help me here?"_ Hermione asked Rukh. The demon girl was suspiciously quiet during the conversation and didn't answer. _"Would you help me here, Rukh?!"_

No answer, again.

But Hermione didn't need the demons input as she remembered the Introduction chapter of the book before her.

"Isla Hitchens nee Black! You're one of the mentioned students. But..." Hermione stopped for a moment in awe to take a better look at the woman. She was looking like mid-thirty at best with her beautiful face that, now that Hermione knew, resembled the Black women in every trait. A strong, pretty jawline with flawless skin covering it. Her hair was white as snow and her lilac eyes spoke of many - many more years than her body. "How old _are_ you?"

"Well done, girl. Its refreshing to see one of your age using their brain for more than angst and drama. To answer your question, I'm old enough to be your grandfather's, grandmother." She laughed at the last bit.

"And...and you're a... necromancer?" Hermione was cautious as she spoke the last word. She was still unsure what to think of the woman before her.

"Observant of you. Even though the people around me know me as a Potion Mistress."

"Then why do you tell me?"

Isla Hitchens leaned forward on the desk where the circle hovered over and looked at Hermione with a friendly expression. Long gone was the rage of the woman and left over was a kind tone as she answered quietly. "You read the book and the book granted you to contact me. Master Lazarus was, even though quirky and slightly insane, a genius. If you can contact me, I can trust you. At least that were his instructions. Even after all these years, I never had reason to doubt my masters skills."

Hermione swallowed hard at the implications. "So all this... its all true?"

"Its not wrong, is all I can say. Mind the date, girl. You're nearly a hundred years past the release date. Some things have changed, some got resolved, others got worse than expected."

Before Isla or Hermione could say more, the door of the workshop was opened and in came a handsome looking teenage boy. He was tall and had black, unruly hair with grey eyes to round his rather stunning appearance up. "Aunt Isla. Customers."

"What kind?" Isla said with some sort of automatism.

"I sent them to the lower levels."

"Very well. I'll be there in a minute." she said to the boy and sent him away with a small gesture of her hand. Then she turned back to Hermione, smiled at her again and spoke in a serious tone. "I must go. I enjoyed talking to you, girl."

"But... But what about the necromancy? I need your help, please!"

"Patience is the first step to becoming a great necromancer. So be patient. What you need, girl, is sleep. We will meet again, don't worry." she said and began to walk away to the door.

"But when?" Hermione asked loudly.

Isla didn't turn around. She just picked up a piece of parchment from the desk next to her, looked at it and smiled. "Sooner than you think." she chuckled. A flick with her wand and like a shattered glass, the circle and with it the connection broke down into the runes.

For a moment, all around Hermione was black. Her eyes went slowly back to see in the nearly complete darkness, just broken by a small candle right next to her book.

" _She was right with what she said, creator."_ Rukh spoke and Hermione startled at the unexpected voice in her head.

" _What do you mean? Lazarus? The book?... Her?"_

" _Sleep, creator."_

" _What?"_

" _You need sleep."_ Rukh chuckled and Hermione felt as the mist slowly caressed her spine and back as if Rukh patted her on the shoulders. Hermione sighed as she felt her eyelids becoming heavy and a yawn creeping up her throat.

" _I'm not quite sure if sleeping is the right course of action. She got... ! Shouldn't we... I don't know... tell somebody... tell Harry?"_

She could almost feel Rukh's eyebrow raising as if to ask 'Are you serious?' and Hermione quickly corrected herself. Of course she couldn't tell anybody. Best case, they would call her a nutter. Worst case, they would ask why she knew of a necromancers workshop somewhere on the world and throw her into Azkaban the moment they found out.

A loud yawn finally escaped her and Hermione took it as a signal to stand up and make her way to her bed. The pillow and blanket felt heavenly and it didn't take long until she found a deep, dreamless sleep.


	6. Apprentice meet Mentor - 06

The next two weeks, Hermione prepared for Hogwarts as best as she could by smuggling the most interesting and resourceful books and tomes into her trunk. She hid them well beneath her clothes and placed her normal books above them. If anyone would find them... Hermione shuddered at the mere thought. She got most of what the Black library had to offer about necromancy, some general summoning and some random books she found interesting by their titles.

She tried to contact Isla again, but every time she tried she got blocked out just after she saw the blur inside the circle. Hermione was frustrated since all she really wanted to know was if her eyes had played a trick on her. A few days after her conversation, her rational part kicked in and she was sure that it must've been a different red-haired, emerald-eyed...

" _...woman that looks exactly like the one creator saw on the marked ones family photos?"_ Rukh threw in and cackled at Hermiones dread.

" _What do I do, Rukh?"_

The mist just beneath the skin of her cheeks and the follicles of her hair felt like firm hands holding her face. They felt encouraging and calming and were so stark in contrast to the cold tone of Rukh.

" _Nothing, creator. You do nothing."_

Hermione sighed heavily, knowing that the demon girl was right. It was just her wishing she could talk to someone who wasn't bound to her soul. She would have to wait for Isla to make her move, given that she planned on doing so.

Nothing it was for Hermione the last one and a half week until she would go back to Hogwarts. Days went by with nothing to do but play chess with Ron, talk with Harry and step out of the line of sight from Ginny. They listened in on Order meetings, but rarely found out anything of importance.

It was a torture for her to remain silent while seeing the same emerald eyes that stared at the ceiling of the workshop. She wanted to tell him, but even if she could, how would she? She was forced to remain silent and traitorous voices in her head told her that Isla knew that she didn't have a choice in the matter. She would tell no one if she wanted to remain a free little witch.

The day before departure, letters from Hogwarts arrived. Minerva McGonagall made her and Ron, Gryffindor Prefects. Its was, of course, an obvious choice to take Hermione. She however wondered why Ron was taken. Despite his likeable character overall, he was neither a good student, nor known for his love of rules, nor his objectivity towards other students. Especially the ones with green and silver crests on their chests. Taking everything into account, he was probably one of the worst people McGonagall could've appointed, but Hermione kept that opinion to herself. No use in disturbing the on-the-spot celebration Molly Weasley wiped up from nothing.

Hermione would've been happy for the red-haired boy, if it wasn't for the much more subtle disappointment of the black haired one with the emerald eyes.

_-_-_HtN_-_-_

Just as every year, getting into the Hogwarts Express was a hassle. It took ages until everybody said their goodbyes and it took even longer until everybody was in the train and seated in a compartment.

As Professor McGonagall told them in the letter, Hermione and Ron made their way to the Prefects meeting in the first wagon of the train. It was a quick meeting, with the Head Girl and Boy quickly going over the do's and don'ts of Prefects, the expectations and privileges as well as the patrols during the night.

Hermione also had to correct herself. There was someone more ill fitted for the job than Ron. For reasons Hermione couldn't even hope to grasp, Professor Snape had appointed Draco Malfoy as fifth year Prefect.

Other than that, the ride on the old train went by without any disturbance other than Malfoy promising Harry to watch him every step he takes and the girls of Gryffindor taking up on the latest gossip. Namely, that Harry Potter was a lying, arrogant, fame-seeking money-whore whos on the same level of a Gilderoy Lockhart with his stories of reborn Dark Lords – BUT – still available and ready to date one of them. Maybe two of them, since, after all, he's the Boy-Who-Lived. If he can handle a dragon, he can handle two girls easily.

" _Are all of creators peers... like...?"_

" _Whores?"_ Hermione thought with venom.

Rukh just chuckled in response. _"This one finds it funny that creator doesn't mind her language in her thoughts."_

" _No need to, really."_

" _No need to outside of her thoughts either."_

" _I'm not the most popular girl in Hogwarts. Calling those sluts what they are would result in nothing less than social suicide."_

" _This one thinks that creator worries too much. Worries all the time."_

"Hermione, you with us?"

Hermione startled as Ron touched her shoulder to get her attention. They were already in the carriage up to Hogwarts and Hermione figured that she must have looked pretty out of it, speaking to Rukh.

 _Don't interrupt my conversations with my resident demon, Ron!_ "I just thought about some things." Hermione answered in a neutral tone.

Ron shrugged it off and continued his discussion about Quidditch with Harry, who took every opportunity to distract himself from the glares and accusation that probably still lingered in the back of his mind.

It took them just a few more minutes until they reached the castle. Just as quickly as everybody else, they walked through the Entrance Hall into the Great Hall and sat down. Their carriage was one of the last ones and the Hall was already bursting with laughter, chatter and the general sound of hundreds together at one place.

Hermione couldn't enjoy the feeling of being back at the place that had changed her life forever. Somewhere out there, the houseelves of Hogwarts were loading up the trunks to deliver them to their dorms. One of those trunks contained books so dark, even the kids of Death Eaters would pale when reading them.

" _Why did I let you convince me to bring those books again?"_

" _Because it was the..."_

" _Don't say 'smart thing to do'. It wasn't. If they find them..."_

With a long sigh she sat down at the Gryffindor table and watched as her classmates conversed about their holidays and travels. Dean told everybody about his day at the football stadium, which left the pureblooded among them stare at him in confusion. Lavender gossiped with Pavati. Ginny told her peers all about the last summer while sending glares at Hermione. An action that made the whole lot of the girls around the red-haired witch join in at the glaring.

Hermione just rolled her eyes at the misplaced jealousy of the Weasley girl and let her gaze sweep over the other tables. There was nothing out of the ordinary and Hermione enjoyed that greatly.

"Who're the new teachers?" asked Seamus next to her and pointed towards the head table. "Wait a minute..."

"Oh Merlin, Snape is gone!" gasped Dean who had just finished his story about Tottenham United.

Dean and Seamus weren't the only ones who missed Snape at the table of teachers. Excited conversations and shouted questions ensured until Dumbledore raised from his chair and announced the Sorting Hat.

It was almost painful to listen to the Hat sing and remind them once again to stick together, when there was a question in the air that just screamed for immediate answers. Where was Snape and who was that witch sitting on his chair with her witches hat drawn so deeply into her face, nobody could see her.

Next to her, the pink-clad, toad-faced woman on the other side of the table was of no consequence, even though her appearance should have been the better eye-catcher.

The process of Sorting was long and required much of Hermione's patience. This year, more children took longer under the hat than ever before. At least Hermione felt like that. It spoke volumes of the tension in the Hall that even during the Sortings, the murmurs never died down completely.

Finally the last student was sorted into Hufflepuff and Professor McGonagall removed the hat and the three-legged stool it sat on.

Necks stretched and ears sharpened – something that rarely occurred when the headmaster started his speeches at the beginning of the year.

"Welcome and welcome back at Hogwarts, everybody. Its truly good to see you all in these troubled times. Before I answer the question that has audibly haunted you since you arrived, I must make the usual announcements. The Forbidden Forest is, as his name suggests, forbidden. Please refrain from any detours or strolls through it. Also, has asked me to bring attention to the extended list of prohibited items which can be found in his office for anyone to see."

Dumbledore graced them all with a bright smile through his silvery beard and the famous twinkle in his eyes grew even more pronounced as the student body went dead silent in anticipation.

Having enjoyed the moment long enough, Dumbledore began to speak in a more quiet voice, taking full advantage of the uncommon silence. "I regret to announce that Professor Snape has resigned from his position as both Professor for Potions as well as the Head of House Slytherin..."

Roaring applause. The first to jump up in euphoric gestures were the Weasley twins, followed by three Houses of Hogwarts. People high-fived each other. Some, like Neville, looked so light-headed that one could fear they would fall to their knees. Just the Slytherin table looked like they got a collective slap to the face and sat stunned in their chairs.

"...I'm sure he will be dully missed." Dumbledore finished with a grin, followed by even louder laughter from the three Houses that had suffered under Snape the most. Dumbledore waited until the cheers went down a bit until he proceeded with his announcements. "I'm happy to announce two additions to the faculty this year. One replacing Professor Moody, the other taking the place of Professor Snape, as well as the responsibility for House Slytherin. Please, welcome with me our new Professor for Defense against the Dark Arts, Dolores Umbridge."

Polite applause went through the ranks of the students and teachers before Dumbledore smiled again, much brighter than when he announced the position of the pink-clad woman. "Please also welcome with me, for the position of Professor of Potions as well as Head of House Slytherin, an old friend of mine and esteemed colleague in several fields of research, Isla Hitchens."

Hermione couldn't help herself. Her mouth hung open and her eyes grew wide as the face of the woman from the workshop, Isla Hitchens nee Black was revealed from under the witches hat. She wore her kindest smile, but her eyes spoke volumes of her authoritarian nature. She almost rivaled McGonagall in her no-nonsense expression.

" _'Sooner then you think' indeed."_ Rukh cackled as she enjoyed her hosts emotional turmoil.

In her shock Hermione nearly missed the social battle between the two new Professors play out. The ugly Professor Umbridge stood up, cleared her throat and was ready to speak in what could only be an annoying voice, when the powerful voice of Professor Hitchens roared up from her seat unannounced.

"SLYTHERIN!" she nearly shouted and the entirety of the school went silent in an instant. "Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw. Let me begin by telling you that I am deeply pleased to be here. I am looking forward to work with you all, from starting with the simplest salves..." she nodded at some of the new first-years with an encouraging smile "...to experimental potions challenging the smartest future potion masters and mistresses among you." She gave a small grin to the groups of seventh years.

She then walked from behind the table, her steps powerful and determined. Her white hair billowed behind her and her lilac eyes burned in anticipation of what she was about to say. She straightened before her House and the snakes met her gaze, knowing nothing of what was to come.

"Truly, it will be a delight to teach you Potions. It is a subject that requires not only discipline and simple craftsmanship, but also an open mind to see the worth in new ingredients, the strength in before never seen materials and the potential in the obscure." Her gaze wandered over the Slytherin House as if she was searching for something while making clear beyond any doubt that her speech was about anything but potions.

"Professor Snape, while being one of the leading Potion Masters in the world, is a purist through and through. I, however, will invite you to see a broader spectrum. See beyond perceived borders and reach out for the things you deem... unbecoming? Below you? Different?" She looked over the Ravenclaw table and shortly stopped two times before her gaze traveled further.

"The books state things previous generations have discovered by questioning the status quo and nothing short of that I expect of each and anyone of you. I expect you to ask more Why instead of How." Her gaze wandered over Hufflepuff, but didn't stop even once.

Her eyes reached the Gryffindor table before she continued. "For when we question our comfort zone, when we ask instead of blindly obeying, when we challenge our reasoning time and time again..." Her eyes stopped, having met with the hazel-brown of a still open-mouthed Hermione. A slight grin crept up on her face and for a moment, the strict expression in her eyes made way for kindness. "...then we might find surprises where we least expected them."


	7. First Lessons - 07

"Have you seen Umbridge glare at her? I almost expected Hitchens to go up in flames."

"Dumbledore was certainly amused."

"By Merlin, Morgana and the Three Bethen, I am so glad that Snape is gone."

"But what if she's even worse than him?" Ron asked into the still upbeat group of people that awaited their Professor to arrive for their first session of Potions in their fifth year.

"Nobody's worse than Snape." Harry replied with a relieved smile on his face.

Harry had been one of those who were so happy that the Potion Master was gone, they celebrated until late in the night. Many wore rings under their eyes, but definitely showed no signs of lost sleep. The simple fact that they wouldn't have to suffer through hours of sneering and snarling, insults and unfair point deduction seemed to give them energy.

Hermione suspected it to be even more for Harry. He had always been so distant and sad during the summer. Hearing that his nemesis resigned from teaching was hope on the horizon. Fate turning its tides not against him for one time. The raven-haired boy nearly shook with excitement in front of the Potions classroom. It was one surreal picture if Hermione ever saw one. Harry looking forward to potions. She wouldn't be surprised if tomorrow the earth decided to circle around the moon.

But she would lie to herself if she denied that she probably was equally jittery, if for different reasons entirely. Potions was now taught by a necromancer. A necromancer she had asked for help, maybe even guidance or mentorship.

Then again, she was equally astonished by the fact that she wanted to know more about this. Maybe even more than about any other subject. Rukh had promised her that this wasn't her doing. All of that longing came from her own mind, and that alone.

She was torn from her musing when the door to the classroom opened with a creak. Unsure of the new situation the students began to slowly step into the room.

"What the bloody hell happened here?" came from Ron.

Hermione even forgot to scold him for his language when she saw the absolutely stunning dungeon room before her. For a first, it was huge. The room was approximately thrice the size of the old dungeon and broken up into three different areas that all were welcoming and brightly lit with magical torches and candles floating around as well as enchanted stones that illuminated the working tables beneath them in a neutral light that was perfect for working.

The most noticeable part of the room was a sitting area with arabic looking sitting cushions and a blackboard. The bronze, silver, black and golden cushions looked comfortable and the candlelight above them invited to sit down and relax.

The entirety of the normal to the creepy ingredients were stored in another part of the room that had a small, metallic bar table in the middle with the cupboards holding the masses of different potions, ingredients and tools.

In the center of the entire room, where the already known working tables were situated and small fires with cauldrons above or beside them, were already burning.

Hermione took the seat she always took and looked into the cauldron to satisfy her curiosity. The smell that came from it was sour, but not disgustingly so. It was more like citrus and limes, combined with vinegar. It's golden-brown color was familiar to her, but she couldn't quite point her finger at it and left it be with a shrug.

When Hermione looked up she startled for a second at the sight of billowing, black robes walking quickly past her. For a dreadful second she thought that Snape was once again among them, but the white, equally billowing hair calmed her nerves quickly. Instead she wondered if dramatic entries were taught in Potions master classes.

Professor Hitchens seized everybody's attention and the murmuring and wondering voices quickly went silent at the oh-so familiar strut to the teachers desk. When Hermione merely startled at the sight, Neville and Harry were close to fainting before their gazes met the graceful, definitely not unwashed, white hair that played around an equally beautiful face.

Hitchens sat down behind the desk and in the same motion took a small folder from a leather satchel she had carried, hidden by her robes.

"Fifth year, Gryffindor and Slytherin. Champions, geniuses and nobility, oh my." she said with a silent chuckle. The smile she gave them was filled with encouragement and kindness. Hermione thought she also saw some mischief in it that gave her face youth.

"Hmm... I wonder..." she started and tipped her temple with her fingers while searching in the room. "Mr Potter! Do you know what kind of potion that is next to you?"

Harry paled at the question that painfully reminded him of his first year. He sat back in his chair, crossed the arms in front of his chest and nearly spat back "No, Professor."

But Isla Hitchens didn't even react to his tone, much less to the snickering in the Slytherin part of the classroom.. Instead her smile grew wider. "Try smelling it, ." she said with a gesture towards the cauldron.

Harry, even though reluctantly, did as she asked and leaned forward to take a sniff from the smoke that arose from the cauldron. His face, so twisted in a defiant frown before, changed into wonder and relaxation at the smell and he lingered above it.

"What do you smell, Mr. Potter?"

The voice of Harry was a breathless whisper as he answered. "It smells like flying in rain-washed air. I can smell the wet grass and... and..."

Harry shot back from the cauldron and his face took on the color of tomatoes. It left Professor Hitchens giggle like a schoolgirl before she stood up and gave Harry a quick nod with her head.

"I'm sorry, , but I couldn't quite resist. I am, however, surprised that you never saw this potion before or, at least, felt its effect." Hitchens wiggled with her eyebrows and Hermione was sure that now, even the last one in the room was convinced that she was anything but another Snape.

"The potion next to you, " she continued. "...is Amortentia. The strongest, known love potion in the world. Can anyone tell me why it's so potent?"

Out of habit, Hermione wanted to raise her hand but stopped when she thought about the question. _Why its so potent?_ She didn't know. She knew roughly how to brew it. The ingredients weren't that hard to guess and it came pretty close to the Polyjuice Potion in the ways it was brewed. But why...?

" ? ? Maybe you?"

Hermione couldn't do more than to shake her head in the negative. She hated the feeling, more than being physically hurt or insulted. Not knowing made her feel incredibly weak - useless. Malfoy didn't react any different, with the exception that he didn't seem as bothered with his lack of knowledge.

Hitchens released a long, exaggerated sigh at the ignorance of her class. "I thought as much. Many Potion Masters don't explain why something works as it does until the Master classes. Absolute madness, in my eyes. So, grab your parchments and quills. Take notes."

As commanded, the class had their pieces of parchment out and were ready to write when Hitchens flicked her wand at the blackboard and rows after rows of what Hermione knew were arithmantic formulas, were written on it.

"What is love?" Hitchens opened "Many thought about the question time and time again and never came up with a satisfying explanation until, funnily enough, the Muggles became proficient in their means of medicine."

Hermione could hear disgusted sounds from the Slytherin side. Hitchens ignored them and just continued. "Love is, if reduced to mind and body, a chemical reaction of our brains to a different human that we perceive as suitable to either bear or protect our offspring and care about and, or protect us. Additionally, our brains are constructs of connections. We connect, create context and links between our experiences and the things around us. Now with that in mind, why do you think Amortentia is so potent?"

Before Hermione could finish writing her notes to raise her hand, Harry raised his, much to the surprise of the classroom. Hitchens smiled brightly when she waved towards him to answer.

"If I understood this right, then Amortentia creates... connects positive things with the person the potion comes from in our brains, right?"

" , that would be five points for Gryffindor. That is exactly what it does. Over and over again, until one can only feel good in close proximity of the person the potion is tethered to."

Before Hitchens could carry on, Harry raised his hand again. Now Hermione was positively stunned by his demeanor.

"Professor. What if the potions doesn't smell like something but... but... some... body?" he asked with embarrassment evident in his tone.

Professor Hitchens just winked towards him and gifted him with another of her bright smiles. "Then, , some girl can deem herself very lucky." she said to him in a loud whisper. "Amortentia has also been known as Aphrodites Oracle by the ancient greeks. Its newer version, barely a century old, is what you see before you. You can swallow it and then run after the person its linked to like a randy dog. The old potion, however, was poison. Smelling it would take years of your life, but tell you, by scent and vision, who your heart truly desires. The effect is limited to the scent now, due to the methods that make it edible and relatively harmless. But its still true, . There is a good chance that whoever smells like the potion would make you very happy."

Several girls around Harry blushed furiously and Hermione had to once again roll her eyes at the sheer idiocy that they would think he meant them. She wondered who the girl in Harry's heart was, though. Cho Chang? Probably.

"Mr. Malfoy. Since you seem so very amused at my class, tell us what potion stands next to you."

"I don't know, Professor." he answered, the snicker in his face effectively erased.

"A pity, . I let it slide, for now, since it seems that Professor Snapes teachings were more than sup-par. But this potion next to you is one you already brewed in his class. Can anyone tell me... yes, ?"

The pretty, blond Slytherin girl cleared her throat in the most dignified way Hermione had ever heard anyone do before she spoke. "Its a Calming Draught. However..." The Slytherin girl stopped with a unsure shrug of her shoulders.

"Go on, ." Hitchens encouraged.

"It got a slightly wrong color. But the smell and visible texture is the same."

"And what do you think caused this change in color?" Hitchens pressed on. The way she smiled at Greengrass made Hermione jealous. She wanted to be looked at like that by a teacher. The amount of pride, encouragement and kindness in it was enchanting. It got rid of Greengrass' nervous tone in an instant and the pretty blonde answered with new found confidence in her voice.

"I think its because the color-giving part of the potion, the sunflower kernels, are not right."

"What if I tell you they were harvested during a new moon?"

"Then..." The Greengrass girls brows furrowed in concentration until she formed a perfect 'O' with her mouth and looked up at Hitchens with the faintest bit of a smile. "Then its a reverse effect."

" , that is correct. Ten points. May I ask how you know this?"

"My... My mother is a potioneer. I like watching her. She got in a bit of a tantrum one day when she received new moon sunflowers and explained to me why they're so useless for a Calming Draught."

Hitchens eyes lit up at the explanation. "Would you tell the class, then?"

Greengrass looked like she'd rather take a walk with a troll, but nodded anyway. Gone was the confidence with which she spoke to Hitchens and she addressed the class with a clear nervous undertone. "Uhm... The Claming Draught uses positive, no... sorry... uhm... it uses three core ingredients. Sunflower kernel, faegrass and hummingbird feathers, all grinded to fine powder before added. Sunflower holds the power of the sun, faegrass juice has calming properties and hummingbird feathers carry the magic of the soothing tune of the bird. Together they create an amplified effect of calm in the drinker. The new moon ruins the sunflower kernels for calming potions and reverses its properties. The same happens when faegrass is cut with metal instead of picked by hand and if the hummingbird is killed for its feathers before its natural death."

"My, my, . Another five points are in order, I reckon. A wonderful summary and quite accurate." Hitchens complimented and watched with twinkling eyes as Greengrass' mouth formed the first real smile Hermione had ever seen on the normally so noble and indifferent girl.

"The Calming Draught, students, is a prime example of what happens if ingredients are treated wrong. But also a prime example that ingredients that are useless for one potion due to wrong handling, are useful for other concoctions. New Moon Sunflower is the core ingredient of panic inducing potions, often used in to rise heart rates, for example. Faegrass cut by metal blades is used to brew potions that empty ones stomach quite effectively. A useful treatment for common poisoning. The feathers of murdered hummingbirds are, however, useless. For now. I have started a project with the seventh year students to research possible fields of use. If you're interested, ask them. We know merely that the dying screech of a hummingbird robs the feathers of every positive property, leaving quite the mess behind."

Hermione looked up from her notes and was officially smitten by the new Professor. Never in her life at Hogwarts had she taken so much notes in Potions, and the lesson was barely in its fifteenth minute. She looked around herself and found the rest of the class equally taken by Professor Hitchens. Some probably just by the stark contrast between her teaching and the insult loaded monologues Snape called lessons. Others, like Harry seemed to hang on the teachers every word. Still others, like Greengrass, longed for the encouraging smile in their direction.

 _'Approval. Encouragement. It could've been so easy, Snape.'_ Hermione thought and smiled at the furious note-taking of Greengrass as Hitchens explained again what she had summarized so perfectly. A light smile was plastered onto the blonde girls face like an ornament into porcelain.

" !" the Professor addressed her through the room and with a lopsided grin pointed at the sour smelling brew next to her. "Maybe you know what this is? Its very advanced, but from what I've heard from my colleagues, if anyone knows its you."

Hermione concentrated and took another smell. Citrus, lime and vinegar flowed into her nostrils as she took a nose full of the scent. It was a brown-golden liquid with something swimming in it that looked like white meat or fish. It was cooked long enough that it didn't resemble anything enough to be certain.

" _I know I've read this. Rukh!"_ Hermione commanded. But the demon stayed silent. " _Damnit Rukh, I need this answer. Help me here!"_

Again, the demon stayed silent. This time Hermione found her in her thoughts, though, and commanded the demon to answer by sheer force of will.

" _Whalers Wine!"_ Rukh whined at her. " _Its Whalers Wine, creator. Leave Rukh alone!"_ The demon girl shouted the last bit and hid back in Hermiones mind. The bushy haired witch made a mental note to investigate the curious behavior later. She was just glad that she could answer now as the name triggered also the information of the potion.

"Whalers Wine. Its a forbidden potion and its effects are rather... different."

"No false decency, . Tell us what it does."

"It lets any female magical, may it be centaurs, merpeople, goblins and so on, be impregnated by a human. The most famous outcome of such a connection are the mermaids of the carribean. The name comes from the whalers of south africa who were notorious users of the potion."

Instead of the encouraging smile, Hermione received a frown and a cold glare from the Potion Mistress. Its effects were immediate as Hermione sunk as far back in her seat as possible without falling from it.

"How do you know this, ?"

 _'How do I know this? How...do I... OH BLOODY HELL!'_ "The restricted section of the library, Professor. I got clearance last year." she blatanly lied. Hermione wasn't even sure if magic this dark could be found in the restricted section. She knew, however, that the book could be found in her trunk, hidden under three layers of clothes.

Hitchens expression cleared up as quick as it darkened, and in its place came a wary smile. Not what Hermione graved to receive, but good enough, she reckoned. Way better than letting slip that she knew about a potion that used sacrifice as a core ingredient from a book that was written by a voodoo priest from Haiti.

" _Close call."_ she said to Rukh with a mental sigh.

" _Close call, indeed, "_ came back the voice of Professor Hitchens in her mind.

Hermione nearly jumped enough to spill the cauldron next to her and she had to stiffle the scream that threatened to escape her mouth. Bad enough that the whole class just saw her startled for no apparent reason.

" _For someone who studies the dark arts as thorough as you, your lack of mental shields and filters is rather... disturbing. Especially with a capable warden within you that does nothing but cower before me. Stay back after class. I want to talk to you, apprentice."_

" _A...Apprentice?"_

" _Aye. Why do you think I came here in the first place?"_ she chuckled with the echoing voice that seemed to be located somewhere behind Hermione's temples. " _Also, try to not startle like that again."_

"I see, . Impressive. But I must remind you that you must tread lightly when around the darker parts of magic. The threshold to irrevocable damage is just too easy to miss. I regret that I won't be able to give points for this, though. I don't think the headmaster would approve." she said with a wink of her eyes and then turned around to the rest of the class to ask about the next potion.

"Dark... magic?" came a whisper from her left. It was Neville, as pale as porcelain.

"I researched for Harry's second task. Don't worry Neville. Whalers Wine sounded like something that could help." she gave back, equally silent. The unsure look of the boy let her sigh in exasperation. Sometimes she found the downright allergic reaction of some of her friends towards dark magic to be a bit much. Sure, one had to be careful and wary of users of said magicks, but the mere mention of it sent some of them into a uncalled for panic.

Hermione couldn't quite follow the rest of the lesson, even though it was more interesting than four years of Potions under Snape combined. Hermione's brain pondered the words of the old, young-looking witch. Apprentice was what she had called her.

 _Why do you think I came here in the first place?_

Not for her, Hermione had thought before the new Professor stated it herself. Hermione had thought it coincidence. She had actually been afraid that Hitchens would tell Dumbledore and she'd wake up in a Ministry holding cell waiting to be shipped to Azkaban.

Instead, the witch was here for her.

Hermione had been sure that the lesson would be over before she'd know it. Interesting lessons tend to fly by while Snape's had been long lasting boredom. Hitchens lesson took ages to end and was absolutely nerve-wrecking, now that she awaited the talk after class. Not to mention that deep in her mind she grew tremendously jealous of the way _her mentor_ took a liking towards Greengrass who answered question after question and had earned twenty-five points at the end of class.

Hermione was on her last nerve reserve when the class finally was ended by a hearty compliment from Hitchens that she held great hopes for this particular class. Smiling faces went out from the classroom and Hermione took extra long to collect her notes and quill. Right after potions, lunch waited for them and no student wanted to wait to fill his belly with the delicious food the elves whipped up.

No student except for two who walked closer to the teachers desk where Professor Hitchens collected the papers from the folder she had produced at the beginning of the class. From a quick glance, Hermione could make out portraits and small vitas for every student in the class.

The door slammed shut and now it was just her, Greengrass and Hitchens in the class.

"What can I do for you, ?"

"I..." she started, but then her face blushed slightly and she fell back into her indifferent persona that Hermione knew so well.

" . I think we have established by now that I am not one to begrudge you your interests. Quite the contrary, in fact. I believe you could be one of the grand minds coming from this class." Professor Hitchens said in a soft voice that was bordering on the tone a mother reserved for her daughter.

"I'm...I'm just wondering if you could... I would need a list of literature regarding potions for..."

Hitchens looked directly into the blondes eyes and a deep frown twisted the beautiful face. "What triple damned inbred are they marrying you to?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Professor." Greengrass answered, but her voice made clear that she was holding back tears.

"Don't play stupid with me, girl. I've heard this question before, you know. Personal studies. Private tutoring. Complete bullshit and you know it. You'll have some uptight, bigot, conservative to the last bit of hair bitch tell you how to drink your freakin' afternoon tea while looking like a porcelain puppet. All you'll keep from your OWL's is the knowledge that you could've been more than some disgusting Lord's breeding cow."

Hermiones eyes went wide as saucers at the complete change in the woman's personality. Her face was twisted in what could only be described as cold rage and Hermione was sure that her mother would hold her ears at the teachers choice of words.

"Tell me, girl. Who is it?"

Greengrass had already let go of every last bit of restraint and the tears flowed freely over her cheeks. Silenced sobs shook her entire body as she tried to uphold at least a last bit of her composure. Her not whining, but straight up despairing voice hurt in Hermione's heart like daggers flying through it. "Its... My father, he... marry... I..."

"Calm yourself. Who is it?"

"Eze... Ezekiel Rosier."

"ABSOLUTELY UNACCEPTABLE!" the white haired witch roared through the dungeon. **Wham.** Her fist flew with mighty force against her desk and at the sight of the ancient witches glare, Hermione backed up a few steps. Hitchens breathed slowly but deeply and visibly calmed herself before she spoke again. " , you shall not receive a literature list for private tutoring." The teacher spat the last two words out as if she'd talk about something profoundly revolting. "You will remain in my class and by Merlin, Mordred and Solomon, you will take your NEWT's."

Greengrass' skin took on to a snow white color and before Hermione or Hitchens could do anything about it, she kneeled down onto the floor and freely sobbed and cried into her hands as if she was alone. "H-How?" she got out during two heavy sobs.

"I can pull strings far more powerful than any Rosier could ever dream of pulling. I will not let such a brilliant mind as yours be married to Karkaroff's pet - this Grindelwald wannabe. I take it you've seen the Rosier boy before?"

Calmer, Greengrass replied in a silent tone. "Yes. At last years Midsummer Ball at Malfoy Manor."

"Believe me, the boy's soul is even uglier." Hitchens said silently. She then kneeled down, grabbed hold of one of Greengrass' shoulders and whispered softly. "I can truly understand your situation, , for I have suffered the same fate at my parents hands. Tell me, are you afraid of being disowned?"

The simple answer was a darkly amused snort and a slight shaking of the head. "No... It seems like I'm merely worth half of the Cleansweep Workshops to my father, so why cling to him?"

"Good answer, . Five points to Daphne." Hitchens joked softly and drew a chuckle from Greengrass. "Now go, wash your face and eat some lunch. Also... expect a letter from your father some time soon."

"Yes, Professor." Greengrass smiled and ran off, nearly skipping in her steps.

Hermione looked after her, still a bit in stupor by what had just transpired before her. All she could press out was a meager. "Why?"

"Because I really do see a lot of my own situation when I was her age. It was planned that I marry my cousin. Ugh... But still, the Greengrass girl got it worse. Ezekiel Rosier is the antithesis to what his name describes. At least my cousin was handsome."

"Whom did you marry instead?" Hermione asked before she reminded herself that this shouldn't even interest her.

"Bob Hitchens. Muggle. He was a bloody yankee." The white haired witch chuckled cheerfully at her own words and the good memories that she seemed to relive for a short moment. "Good man. Good husband. Great father and uncle."

"Why is he dead? Weren't you friends with Perenelle Flamel?"

Hitchens looked at Hermione with a mixture of amusement and sadness that she thought only the old witch could pull off. "Life is much – much harder for Muggles to endure, . A hundred years he grew old, a true rarity for the time. But without the help from magic, his body grew weak even with the help of potions as strong as the philosophers stone. And even if I asked Perenelle for that rock, I hated that hags guts more than I hated her husband. Mutual, that feeling was."

"You were both the students of Laz... Master Lazarus." Hermione pointed out.

"Yes, we were. She in the 15th century and me in the 18th. I saw her two times total in my entire life. And that was quite enough. That woman is absolutely infuriating."

"Oh..." was the only thing Hermione could offer. She forgot, once again. what time period Isla Hitchens was able to talk about from her own experience.

The old – ancient witch chuckled once again and then gestured Hermione to follow her. The brown haired witch who was barely in her puberty quickly did so and stared open mouthed at the secret passage that opened up from a corner of the classroom. As soon as they stepped over the threshold, the teacher neutrally commented that the 'too nosy for his own good youngster in his Headmaster's office wouldn't be able to eavesdrop here and merely hear an enlightening discussion about potions from Professor to student while also telling Hermione that their talk would have to be quick.

They climbed down several flight of stairs, walked along a small hallway with stonewalls so dirty, Hermione first thought the tunnel was just hacked out of the dirt itself. Another flight of stairs, deeper down. Another hallway, a turn and finally a door with light shining through the gap between it and the floor.

Professor Hitchens walked closely to the door and laid a hand on the handle. She leaned forward as if to open it, but stopped mid-motion. Without turning she said in a silent voice that echoed through the hallway. "Hermione. Within these rooms I want you to call me Mistress Isla or Lady Black. Here I am not your Professor, I'm your mentor. I am the mistress, you are the apprentice. You will obey my every command without question. Am I understood?"

"But earlier you sa..."

"I asked: Am I understood?" Isla interrupted harshly and turned her head to shoot Hermione a threatening glare.

"Yes, Prof... Mistress Isla."

The older womans expression quickly came back to one of kindness and her voice settled down as well. "I have given the students permission to ask because I teach them Potions. Down here, I will teach you the Arts of Death. Necromancy, Soul Magic, Voodoo and the Magicks of the Trinity and the nine Sinners. If I command and you disobey, it could very well mean the end of your life – or worse. Once again, am I understood?"

"Yes, Mistress Isla."

"Very well. Brace yourself." the old witch breathed and pushed the door open with a single motion. She stepped into the brightly lit room and let Hermione standing behind.

She was thinking in overdrive. This was her very last chance to get out of here, forget about all this and just live her life with a demon within her. No big deal. But if she stepped into this room, she would seal her fate to one of a necromancer. She would learn magic so dark that the laws of Britain didn't even bother to write anything but 'Death' as a possible sentence.

But if she wouldn't do it, she wouldn't know. She would never know, never learn.

And with one determined step, she crossed the threshold.

And screamed out her lungs. "OH BLOODY MERLIN!"

"Oh, my. If my son grows up with such potty mouths..." said a warm, almost loving voice that belonged to a red-haired beauty of a woman.

"I ensure you, Lily, that minds her manners when not confronted with the Undead."

"I told you not to call me... that."

"Reborn, then! Geez."

Hermione fell to the floor like a sack of rice and felt her whole body shake violently at the sight before her. So it was all true. Everything she saw back in Grimmauld Place.

Before her sat Lily Potter, grinning at her with her delicate mouth and the same shining emerald eyes that graced her sons face.

"You're...You're..." Hermione started lamely. "You're Lily Potter! You're Harry's... Harry's mother. But... by Merlin, it wasn't my mind playing tricks." Then she turned to her new mentor. "I can't keep this from him! I can't just go up there and act as if I didn't just see his mother." She wanted to continue pleading when the soft voice of Lily Potter cut her rant short before it could even begin.

"Please, do not. I'm not ready. As much as I long to see my baby boy, my body is weak and fragile. I can't sit up like this for even an hour, much less walk or climb stairs. I need a constant regimen of potions and these... rituals to keep me living. Please, do not tell him yet. If not for me then do it for him."

Hermione shut her eyes and shook her head. "I... I just can't. I..."

But Lily Potter pressed on, her voice staying as calm and soft as a mothers should. "What do you think he would do when he knows this and then a ritual fails and I am dead again? Hmm... Hermione?" she asked with her head tilted slightly to the side.

"He...wouldn't survive it." Hermione admitted without a doubt. If Harry were to find his mother alive and then lose her again, it would break his heart in so many pieces that no-one would be able to pick them up again.

Realizing in what an awkward position she sat on the floor, Hermione quickly stood up and rearranged her robes. The two older woman regarded her with well-meant smiles, but Hermione couldn't muster one herself. She has had problems with keeping the secret from Harry even if she had half-convinced herself that it was just a trick of the mind. Now knowing that it was indeed reality, that Lily Potter was truly among the living again, it would be much – much harder to keep it from him.

"Everytime I'll look him in the eyes I'll have to swallow this. Please, just one question. When are you ready? How long will I have to remain silent?"

This time, Isla stepped forward and answered. "We plan on letting a 'confused'..." she gestured quotes in the air. "... Lily step into the house of the Weasleys at Christmas. Lily and I have agreed on completely erasing her memory once she leaves this workshop. All she'll know is that a necromancer had raised her and that now that the experiment is done, he had dropped her off. Even experienced Legilimens, such as Albus, won't be able to tell the lie. After all, no one in Britain knows that this is even possible. I doubt that anyone on the planet knows how the memories of such a person must look like."

Hermione played back the plan in her mind and thought about it for a second. As far as she knew, it was pretty foolproof. Except for one, little detail. "What if they look at my memory?"

"That is actually why I asked you to stay behind." Mistress Isla said and turned around to reach for a small book. She held it up for Hermione to see while her finger touched it carefully. "This is a book on the Mind Arts, specifically for people with your ways of warding your mind. Occlumency, Legilimency and Telekinesis. I want you to learn it by heart and follow its instructions. You must learn to control your mind and block others out. Not just for this plan to work, but for both our safety. I cannot teach you the Arts of Death if I have to fear a leak."

With a wry smile she handed the book to Hermione, but didn't let go of it right away. "For now, Hermione, I must obliviate you. Do you understand why?"

Hermione audibly gulped down the bile that had instantly formed in her throat. She understood, but hell would sooner freeze before she'd be comfortable with losing her memories. Despite her fears she nodded to her new Mistress who merely flicked her wand and for a second, it all went dark for Hermione.

She stood in the Potions classroom and stared at the book in her hand. Professor Hitchens, or Mistress Isla as she was supposed to call her... somewhere, was gone. She was the only one left standing between the still smoking cauldrons what left her enough time to order her thoughts and press down the headache that had formed in her mind before leaving for lunch. She didn't remember much. She was supposed to read the book in her hands and learn its content. She was the apprentice of Isla Hitchens for... Potions? No that couldn't be right. Why would she even agree to that? Hermione reckoned that this bit of memory was false and she probably got the mentor for necromancy she wanted. There was a last memory of something shocking and something about Christmas. Something something, indeed. It all was a blur, except for the absolute fact in her head that she had to learn before Christmas and to keep her eyes out on that date.


End file.
